


All You Are

by nyagosstar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bad Parenting, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyagosstar/pseuds/nyagosstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Trevelyan isn't above using every advantage he can find to help win the battle against Corypheus-including arranging the marriage of his followers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s what’s best for the Inquisition.” Trevelyan looked so sincere, so earnest, Dorian thought he misheard.

“You want me to what?” They were alone in the Inquisitor’s room, standing at the balcony where the cold mountain air kept them both tucked in long cloaks.

“After we returned from Halamshiral, the Commander received dozens of marriage proposals. Josephine thinks it’s politically sound to secure his marriage.”

“With me.” He would laugh if he didn’t feel so sick. “You understand I left Tevinter to escape just this kind of thing.”

Trevelyan slapped his shoulder. “Yes, but Cullen’s a man, so it shouldn’t be so difficult. It solidifies our internal power structure and provides us with intimate ties to Tevinter.”

“Inquisitor,” he couldn’t call him by his name. Not when he was orchestrating Dorian’s life. “Just because he’s a man doesn’t mean I want to marry him. And if you think that marrying me to a Ferelden soldier with no magic is going to do anything to your ties to Tevinter, you haven’t listened to anything I’ve ever told you about my homeland.” He could imagine the horror rippling through the Magisterium at the news. Dorian had never received a personal letter from the Archon, but he imagined a marriage to Cullen would do it. “What does the Commander think of all this?”

Trevelyan leaned against the balcony. “He’ll do as I ask.”

“You haven’t told him.” 

“No. I wanted to talk with you first. I thought you would be happy. It’s a chance to have what Tevinter could never give you.” Trevelyan had come so far since they first met. Dorian couldn’t tell if he actually thought he was giving Dorian a gift, or if he was playing it up to make Dorian more pliable to his will. “I won’t force you to do this, Dorian. But if you refuse,” he drew a breath, held it a moment and let it out in a long sigh. “There’s no place here for people who can’t think of the good of the Inquisition.” 

Dark spots swam in front of Dorian’s vision and he thought he might vomit. “You’d cast me out?”

Trevelyan spread his hands. “You’re a very dear friend, and I’d hate to see you leave. But we’re fighting the greatest threat Thedas has ever known. I need absolute loyalty.”

It was worse, somehow, to have Trevelyan call him a friend and still talk of making him leave. At least Halward had the decency to deny him. There had to be a point at which Dorian had to consider that the fault didn’t lie with others, not when the same thing kept happening over and over. He could never quite live up to expectations, it seemed. “How long do I have to decide?” Perhaps Dorian needed to stop putting all of his faith in men who took a longer view, overlooking the minutia of Dorian’s life.

“I’ll give you until the morning. I really do hope you’ll choose to stay with us, Dorian.” He squeezed Dorian’s shoulder in dismissal as he went to his desk to sort through the day’s correspondence as if he had not dropped a terrible ultimatum on Dorian. As if his careful wording didn’t set the decision firmly on Dorian’s shoulders.

Dorian lingered at the balcony for a moment. He hoped that Trevelyan might come back with a bold laugh and a smile and tell him it had all been a joke at his expense. But the Inquisitor stayed at his desk and the cold wind moved him inside. He let himself out, down the stairs and out into the hall, his steps uncertain. Varric called to him in greeting, but Dorian waved him off, kept walking. The keep wasn’t that big and he’d made a full circuit in less than an hour. He climbed up onto the walls and eventually, without his notice, his feet led him to Cullen’s office. 

He stood at the door for several long moments, considering the sturdy wood before he knocked. Cullen’s voice called out for him to enter and he found the man with his fists planted on his desk, leaning over a scrap of paper. His face closed up when he saw Dorian. “Come to gloat?”

Dorian felt as if he’d been punched. His grip on the door kept him on his feet. “Commander—“ The icy silence between them had faded once they’d arrived at Skyhold and Dorian was able to prove his usefulness. While Dorian didn’t seek the man out, but he no longer walked the other way when he saw Cullen coming. They’d even traded a few polite words at the Winter Palace. 

“Please, Messere Pavus. I’ll have quite enough of your company in the coming days. Give me time to adjust to this.”

Words. Words had always been his first harbor in a difficult situation, but they failed him in the face of Cullen’s anger. “Of course. My apologies.” He gave a half bow and forced himself out of the office. He didn’t think he had the strength to make it back to his room, but luckily it was a short distance to the tavern.

Bull was seated with a handful of the Chargers, and Sera was balancing an arrow by its point on her fingertip. Dorian dropped into an empty chair at Bull’s side and stole the mug in front of him, draining it in one long gulp. When Bull protested, he slid his coin purse across the table. He should be saving his coin, but what was a going away party without alcohol?

Bull frowned at him and pushed the money back at him. “You okay, big guy? You look pale.”

Dorian drew himself up and pushed away thoughts of his impending departure. “Never better. Who has cards? Shall we play a round?” His voice was steady. A small accomplishment, but Dorian would take what he could get. 

“A little early for you, isn’t it?” Bull studied him and if Dorian didn’t get him distracted he’d start poking and prodding until the whole sordid mess came out. Whatever Dorian thought of Trevelyan at the moment, he was still the Inquisitor, still the Herald of Andraste and the people of the Inquisition didn’t have room for doubt. And, to be honest, once he was gone, who would miss him? He knew of a handful of bets riding on how long he was likely to stay. At least someone would benefit.

“Yeah, why aren’t you up in your dusty tower with your books?” Sera flipped the arrow up and caught it so she could point it in his direction.

Instead of trying to play that nothing was wrong, Dorian gripped Bull’s leg under the table. “No questions. Just drinks and cards.”

For a moment, he thought it wouldn’t work, but then Bull patted his back. “This round’s on me.”

The ale and the company helped for a little while. Bull and his Chargers were always good for a story. Sera, too, when he could follow her line of thought. It was quite late and he was quite drunk by the time he quit the tavern, Bull at his side to help him back to his room. 

“You’ll tell me what’s going on when you can?”

Dorian nodded as Bull helped him into bed, the room swirling in a soft, slow spin. Bull patted his chest and then he was gone, the door closed, and Dorian was left alone with his thoughts. He’d hoped that the ale and the late hour would pull him to sleep, but he couldn’t stop turning over his thoughts. Cullen’s anger, his furious expression when Dorian had said nothing was clear in his mind. It was not a look he wanted to see cast on him every day for the rest of his life.

He tried to imagine a life outside the Inquisition. He couldn’t go back to Tevinter. The Venatori were thick in his homeland and he doubted he would make it far before they found him and paid him back for all those he’d help eliminate. Val Royeaux might make a nice stopping point. He couldn’t stay there indefinitely, Inquisition business brought Trevelyan through often and once he was cut loose from the Inquisition, he had no desire to be faced with them again and again. If he was careful, he might have enough coin to get to Nevarra. At least the weather would be better.

He squeezed his eyes closed and curled in on himself. Sleep did not come.

When dawn broke, Dorian was still a little drunk as he made his way through the keep. Few were up so early and he had a quiet walk to Trevelyan’s room. The Inquisitor was waiting, his arms folded and a vaguely hopeful expression his face. At his side was Cullen, who wouldn’t even look at Dorian. His disdain made Dorian’s choice easier. Better to take his chances in the wilds than have to face a man who hated him for the rest of his life. 

“What say you, Dorian?”

He cleared his throat and tried for calm. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor. I believe in this cause and the work we’re doing, but I cannot do as you request.” As he spoke, Trevelyan’s genial expression hardened until he barely resembled the charming man they all knew. 

“I see. Very well. I expect you out of Skyhold by nightfall and Inquisition lands in a fortnight.”

A part of him had hoped that Trevelyan was bluffing, and that once Dorian stood his ground, they would all move on. Instead, his words hit him like a shard of ice through his heart. “Thank you. And please, if you have need of me, I will come.” Once he left, Dorian knew Trevelyan would never call for him, but he had to offer. He couldn’t walk away without it.

“Inquisitor, what is this?” Cullen looked between them, a frown marring his handsome face.

Trevelyan smacked Cullen’s back. “No need to worry, Commander. We’ll find someone suitable for you. Perhaps we should look to the proposals from Orlais. I’ll set Josephine to it now.”

Dorian slunk away as they continued to talk about Cullen’s future. He had no wish to hear what Trevelyan had in store when his own was so suddenly dark. He noticed the Commander hadn’t been given an ultimatum, though Dorian supposed the leader of the Inquisition’s army had more value than a single mage. Even if Trevelyan had dragged him all over Ferleden and made him fight a fucking dragon. Dorain drew in a slow breath. It wasn’t the time for bitterness. That could come later when he didn’t have packing to do and a decision to make about his goodbyes.

The room assigned to him near the gardens was small, but it had been his alone. During the months of their occupation of Skyhold, Dorian had managed to accumulate a surprising amount of stuff. He came to Ferelden with his staff and a terrible hunger. At least he’d be leaving it with a few more things. 

He began sorting his belongings, the things he could make room for, the things best left behind. There were a handful of items that would be put to good use in the hands of his friends. As he identified items to go to Bull and Sera and Varric, he decided it was best to leave without saying anything. Best to leave his gifts in his room with notes for his friends to find when he was gone. Bad enough he had to leave, he didn’t think he had the strength to explain over and over this his selfishness had him cast out, again. 

He was in the midst of sorting his books when his door banged open and Cullen marched in, his face flushed. “What are you doing?”

Dorian looked around the room and then back to Cullen. “It should be obvious, Commander. I’m packing. I have until nightfall, unless the Inquisitor has changed his mind? Am I to be on my way immediately?”

The anger driving Cullen forward evaporated and he closed the door behind him. “Not the packing, you foolish man. I mean denying the Inquisitor. Do you _want_ to be cast out of Skyhold?”

Dorian turned his back to Cullen and continued sorting. Some of the books held quite a sentimental value, but he couldn’t conscience the space. “I find that what I want, Commander, means very little.” 

“So you’ll throw away everything we’ve built, and everything you’ve worked for?”

“I’m hardly throwing it away. The Inquisitor gave me a choice, such as it is. And I already left one home to prevent marriage to a person who would spend her whole life despising me. The terrible climate doesn’t inspire me to try the same thing here.” He looked at his pack already stuffed with clothes and necessary items. The books would never fit. He sighed and picked them up and put them all back on his shelf, trying not to feel the pain of their loss. They were just things and perhaps, one day, they might cross paths again.

“Dorian.” Cullen closed the distance and placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “When you came to me last night, I thought—“

Dorian shrugged him off. “It’s quite clear what you thought. The evil, scheming, gay, blood mage gets one over on the poor, virginal Templar. Don’t flatter yourself, Cullen. A pretty face isn’t quite enough to make me bind you to my will.” He wished Cullen would leave. It was hard enough to pack up his life, sort through the physical memories of his time with the Inquisition without an audience. “I’m certain the Inquisitor will find a nice wife for you. I don’t know what he was thinking trying to pair us up in the first place.”

“Dorian! Please, listen. I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. It was incredibly foolish of me not to think that the Inquisitor would have pushed you into this arrangement as he did me. I’m the Commander of his army, I serve at his pleasure. I should not have forgotten that he expects the same of the rest of you.”

He sounded so earnest; it was hard for Dorian to keep hold of his anger, but if he let it all go, the only thing left was sadness. “Yes, thank you, Commander. Apology accepted. Now, if you please. I have a great deal to do and not much time.”

“You don’t have to go.”

A dismissive sound crossed his lips before he could stop himself. “Don’t be foolish. Trevelyan won’t change his mind. He thinks it a weakness.”

Cullen caught his hand and stilled his packing, making Dorian meet his gaze. “He doesn’t have to change his mind if you will. Agree to the marriage and he’ll let you stay.” He rubbed Dorian’s hand with his thumb. “I don’t despise you. I was upset and I lashed out. I know I’m not,” he looked away, then. “I’m not anyone’s ideal for a husband, but I would never try to hold you back. And if it meant you could stay, shouldn’t we at least talk about it?”

With a great deal of effort, Dorian pulled his hand away, unwilling to let himself hope. “It’s all well and good to discuss it, but I have seen what years can do to arranged marriages and it is not anything I want a part of. If I wanted to be resented, I would have stayed in Tevinter.” His own parents kept separate wings, and it was still not enough distance between them. 

Cullen, though, did not seem swayed. “We hardly know each other. Perhaps there is a chance we may grow to be friends. Let me talk to the Inquisitor. Josephine would insist on an elaborate ceremony—it would be months before the actual wedding.” He ran his hand over his head, mussing his slicked back hair into something closer to curls. Dorian had never been close enough to realize his hair curled. “It would give us time to get to get to know each other. If, at the end of the engagement, we find we are not compatible, then you can leave, but you’ll have had months of time to prepare, possibly find somewhere to land instead of heading out of the fortress on foot.”

What was worse: leaving with no warning, or knowing it was coming for months? He might be better prepared, but could he live with the knowledge hanging over him? “Why would you do this? As you say, we hardly know each other. I know you don’t trust me.” When they first set up practice for the mages in the practice field, Cullen had set a troop of his soldiers to monitor their progress. When Dorian went to him to complain, he was unmoved, claiming that he had to think of the safety of everyone in the keep.

Cullen sighed. “It’s not you I don’t trust. You have been an incredible asset to the Inquisition and to lose that over something so small is a waste.”

“And you consider marriage a small thing?”

He spread his hands. “On the balance of saving the world? Yes.” He looked away, his face lined. “I swore to give everything I had to the Inquisition. If the Inquisitor believes this will help us, even in a small way, how can I say no?”

Had circumstances been very different, Halward Pavus would have loved Cullen. His devotion to duty was positively Tevene. “And when the Inquisition is done? When Corypheus is defeated in a year, two years? Then you have an entire lifetime to regret your duty.”

“Then in two years we figure out the next step. But the first step is keeping you here, helping instead of running. Please. Let me talk to the Inquisitor. If he is amenable, we can start small.” Cullen cast about the room and his eyes lit on Dorian’s chess set. “You play? I haven’t in years. We could start there.”

#

Cullen, it turned out, was a challenging opponent. He gave the chess board the same intent concentration he gave his war maps. Dorian resorted to cheating almost immediately.

“You can’t move there.” Cullen nudged Dorian’s knight.

Dorian scanned the board. “Of course I can. When the Archon is on a black square, his knights move an extra space. Shall I order a copy of the rule book for you, Commander? How long has it been since you played?”

It was only their second match. The first had been stilted and was over quickly as they hadn’t known where to look or what to talk about during the quiet times. Dorian came better prepared for their second match. He’d read a short history of the southern Templars, and a treatise on the importance of the mabari in Ferelden culture. Neither turned out to be necessary as they relaxed into the match and Dorian started cheating.

“Is it so very different, here as compared to Tevinter?”

Dorian leaned back and crossed his legs, studying Cullen as Cullen studied the board. “As different from Ferelden is to the Fade.”

Cullen made his move and then leaned back. “You sound like you miss it.”

“In some ways.” He slid a pawn forward. “I miss the food and the culture and the heat.” Even in the garden under the direct rays of the sun he was chilled. “Mages can use magic there without the fear that we’ll all become horrible abominations. The blood magic, betrayal, and sycophantism aren’t so nice, though.” He smiled as Cullen laughed. The man should laugh more often, it eased some of the tension from his face. It must be a heavy job running the army of the Inquisition. “What about you. You grew up near here, yes?”

Cullen hummed agreeably. “Not too far, a few days out. Farm living to life in the Circle was quite the change. While the other recruits were groaning about the early hours, I was beside myself. Sleeping in until dawn didn’t even happen on holidays. Of course, I didn’t quite know how to be around so many other people. It was just my family on the farm and suddenly I was shoved into a dorm with twenty other boys.”

Dorian moved his castle, a legal move, if not a very good one. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. A bit young, but I was determined.”

He found the image of an impossibly young Cullen in oversized armor with wooden sword and shield strangely endearing. “I’d already been kicked out of three Circles by the time I was that age.”

“No.” Cullen leaned in, the board forgotten as a grin spread across his face. “I would have thought you a very well behaved child.”

“Maker, no. I was a terror.” He hadn’t thought so at the time. Not with Halward egging him on and Aquinea sending him lists of children to befriend and which ones to humiliate. It wasn’t until years and years later he realized that wasn’t how all children acted. “Better and stronger than the other children, I bloodied the noses of half of my peers. It’s no wonder my scandal was so well received.”

Cullen, bless him, didn’t ask him to elaborate. “I had my share of fights as well.”

Dorian grinned, scandalized. “No. Not our good, wholesome Commander. I imagine you as a tiny hall monitor, keeping the peace.”

“I wanted to be the best and there were more than a few boys who were only there because their family shuffled them off. They had no love for the Templars, nor any desire to help. I thought I could shove it into them.” He laughed. “My first lesson in leadership.”

“There they are!” Trevelyan’s voice cut across the garden. “My princes.” And just like that, Dorian remembered he wasn’t building a friendship with Cullen, but the foundation of a marriage. The easiness between them evaporated as Trevelyan neared, a hand out on each of their shoulders. “Josephine is ready to start talking about the guest list for the wedding. I thought we could meet to discuss it if you’re not busy.”

While Trevelyan had agreed to let Dorian stay and let them proceed under the auspices of a long engagement, he would not be turned from planning for their wedding. He wanted it to be a reason to bring rulers from across Thedas to Skyhold and preparations had already begun on the minor repairs to the Fortress that had never been a priority.

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Dorian rose, aware of just how much he resided in the keep at Trevelyan’s pleasure. He followed Cullen out of the garden, their game left mid-play, and into Josephine’s office. She had an array of tiny cakes and tea set out for them. A kind gesture that had Dorian scrambling to find a way to repay in the coming days.

As the afternoon wore on, Dorian wasn’t sure why his attendance was required at all. He and Cullen were mostly silent as Trevelyan and Josephine batted names back and forth between them. Rulers, allies, nobility. The kind of people that led to extravagant and frankly boring parties. Cullen looked overwhelmed within moments.

“Cullen, we’ll invite your family of course. I’ll send tailors to have them fitted a month before the ceremony.” Trevelyan flipped through samples of paper for the invitations. “Dorian, I imagine your parents can handle their own travel and clothing arrangements.”

He felt like he’d swallowed a burning stone. “No. Absolutely not. You cannot invite them.”

Trevelyan looked curious, but there was a layer of steel beneath his gaze that was immovable. “Whyever not?”

“One, they won’t come. Two, I don’t want them here.” He couldn’t believe that Trevelyan would even suggest it. Hard enough to be forced into a marriage, to have his parents as witness would be unbearable.

Trevelyan waved him away. “Come now, Dorian. Your father crossed the sea just to see you. Of course they’ll come to their son’s wedding. And wouldn’t it be nice to have the family all together? We should send their invitations first, it will take ages for them to arrive by courier.”

Before Dorian could argue further, Cullen cleared his throat. “I should like to tell my family myself, before we send their invitation, if at all possible.” Cullen seemed caught between his own dismay and Dorian’s fury. 

Trevelyan looked to Josephine who nodded. They were all ignoring Dorian’s demand and it made him want to burn the building to the ground. See if they would listen then. 

“That should be fine, Commander, as long as you do it soon. Best to be able to send out invitations at the same time. We wouldn’t want our allies to feel slighted.”

“Thank you.” Cullen stood and put a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “You don’t really need us for the rest of this, do you? I promised Dorian a tour of the ramparts and it’s getting late.”

Trevelyan smiled at them, pleased that they should be making plans together, despite the fact that Cullen had promised no such thing. “Go on, then. Josie will show you the final invitations before we send them out.”

Cullen pulled him from the room. Dorian followed on stiff legs his whole body rigid with fury. “Not here,” Cullen said under his breath, leading Dorian out of the hall and up the stairs to his office. He had a quick word with one of the soldiers stationed at his door and then he closed them in. “Breathe.” He led Dorian to a chair but Dorian was too agitated to sit. He paced instead, the full length of the room.

“First he must arrange this marriage, and then he seeks to arrange my family. He goes too far.” Dorian pointed through the wall as if Trevelyan could see him on the other side of the fortress. “I don’t want them here.” He shuddered, unable to imagine what it would be like to have them in his space after so many years free of them. “They cannot be here.”

“All right,” Cullen soothed. “You said they wouldn’t be likely to attend.”

He could picture his father opening the invitation. He wasn’t sure which would be worse for Halward that Cullen was a man, that he was Ferelden, or that he had no magic—was in fact an ex-Templar. Dorian could not have concocted a more spiteful match if he tried. If only it had been his choice. “True. But I don’t want them to know about my life and I don’t want the barrage of letters as they try to change my mind.” He choked a little on his choice of words. No need to get into that bit of history. 

Cullen approached him, slow and steady as if Dorian were a colt unused to human contact. “The Inquisitor will do as he will, we know that. But I can have Josephine divert any missives that come to you from them. You won’t have to think on it at all.”

He finally collapsed in the chair Cullen offered and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “How will your family take the news?” He imagined the farm thrown into chaos as the absent son came bearing news of a male lover. “I can’t imagine it will please them to lose out on grandchildren.”

Cullen propped himself on the edge of his desk next to Dorian, a breath of air separating his thigh from Dorian’s knee. “Mostly, I think they’ll be upset that I never mentioned you.” A faint smile graced his face, his eyes far away. “Besides, they already have six grandkids. They never needed me for that. And they’ve known about me, that I am bisexual,” he stuttered adorably over the word, “since I was sixteen.” 

“Well, well. The hidden depths of the Commander.” A tiny bit of him eased. At least Cullen might not be physically revolted by him. In theory at least.

“Would you like to come with me? When I tell them.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to answer with a scathing remark, but Cullen seemed sincere in his request. He hesitated.

“Better to meet them in a quiet moment than here when the keep is filled with dignitaries and nobles.”

He was right. “I would like that.”

“Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements for when the Inquisitor can spare us both.”

He stood, aware he’d taken up far too much of the Commander’s time. “I should warn you. Parents tend not to like me.” Not his own or others. “Fereldens in particular find me distasteful.”

“Don’t worry so much. If nothing else, they’re polite enough to wait until you leave to start talking about you.

Dorian straightened his clothes and headed for the door. “How refreshing.”


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, matters of Inquisition business took precedence over Cullen’s request and they weren’t projected to leave for almost two weeks. Two weeks of Trevelyan nosing his way into every conversation, sly glances from Josephine and the underlying worry about when to start telling people.

Cullen didn’t have time for chess that afternoon, so they were in a hushed conversation in a corridor. Hardly the best setting. “It has to be before we send out invitations, right?” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and Dorian wondered how it was that he’d risen to Commander of the Inquisition’s army with that kind of tell still lingering. It was charming, in a backwoods kind of way, but terribly obvious to even a casual observer. 

In all honesty, he hoped that Josephine and the Inquisitor would take care of it for them. He didn’t much care for the idea of standing on a table in the tavern to declare their intentions. Wasn’t that how Fereldens did things? He thought he’d read somewhere that proclamations were often made while drunk in the local tavern. 

A nice decree when Dorian was busy somewhere else would be ideal. It seemed the least Trevelyan could do. “Perhaps while we’re away at your family’s farm?” Then all of the whispering would have a chance to die down and with any luck there would be some kind of emergency that would call him from Skyhold at the Inquisitor’s side for the foreseeable future.

Cullen let out a long breath, his shoulders dropped as the tension fell away from his body. Too easy to read by half. “We should be able to keep it together for two weeks.”

One of Cullen’s soldiers interrupted them with a message before Dorian had a chance to scold him for saying so out loud. Dorian wasn’t superstitious by nature, but there were certain things one did not do. Calling down chance was one of them. They’d be lucky to make it through the day with his careless words.

*

Varric waved Dorian over as he crossed through the hall toward the stairs to the library. “You got a minute, Sparkler?”

He didn’t think he owed Varric money, but it was always best to check, since his interest rates were vicious. When he’d complained, Varric had only laughed and told him that they’d name a building after him in Kirkwall. The thought still made him shudder. “Of course,” he said and joined Varric near the fire.

“Listen, I’m not one to pry,” Dorian let out an inelegant sound, but Varric kept going. “But I noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Curly.”

“The Commander?” As if he’d never heard of the man. It was the wrong move as Varric sensed his deflection.

“You know who I’m talking about. Sera said she saw the two of you playing chess in the garden and I saw you with my own eyes coming out of his office just the other day.”

Dorian fought down the feeling like he was standing in front of his father, fifteen and terrified. Hadn’t he been spending an unusual amount of time with Lucanus? Why were his tutors complaining about a lack of focus? How had he come to have that bruise on his neck? But circumstantial evidence wasn’t real evidence. It hadn’t been then and it wasn’t now. “We’ve crossed paths more than usual, I suppose.”

Silence dropped between them and Dorian realized that Varric was hesitating. “Curly’s a better man now, than he was in Kirkwall. That city was a fucking mess and hardly anyone came out of it smelling sweet. I don’t know. Maybe it’s good for him to spend time with mages outside of a circle. But he was inside for a long time and those are hard habits to break.”

“Are you,” he thought back over Varric’s words. “Are you trying to warn me away from him? For my own sake?”

Varric sighed and frowned down at the floor. “See, this is why I don’t like to get involved. Just. Be careful with yourself. He seems all bashful and charming, but Kirkwall was awful and the pressure of the Inquisition is nothing to ignore. Even the very best people might be hurtful under those circumstances.”

Never in his life would he have thought that Varric would try to warn him away from Cullen. He thought Cullen and Varric were friends, of a sort. Certainly better friends than he was with Varric. Sure, they shared stories on the road and occasionally a tent, they had each other’s backs in a fight, but Varric and Cullen had history. But there was no mistaking it. Varric was worried for Dorian.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He headed up to the library, too involved in his own thoughts to trade barbs with Solas as he went.

*

He was eating lunch of bread and cheese overlooking the practice yard as the Chargers trained with a group of Cullen’s new recruits when Sera found him. She dropped down next to him on the wall, stole half of his food and poked him in the shoulder. 

“Didn’t figure blonde as your type. Thought you liked ‘em all musclely.” She nodded to the field where there was a fair display of naked chests in the afternoon sun. It certainly was a preferred feature of his afternoons.

No use in pretending. “Cullen has his share.” Muscular enough when not covered in armor. Their circumstances might be forced, but Dorian wasn’t blind. Cullen had a nice form and a fair face.

The man himself walked out onto the yard, sweeping up the ranks of the young recruits, his ridiculous cloak billowing out behind him. Perhaps, were he Ferelden, it would have been stirring. Some of the men on the field certainly seemed to think so as they swayed toward Cullen when he passed. 

Sera stuck her tongue out, scraping it against her teeth like she tasted something bad and made a disgusted sound. “How does that even work? You’re all fancy and he can’t laugh. You sit around and drink cups of miserable together?”

When he wasn’t working, when he wasn’t directly under the pressure of the Inquisition or whatever else haunted him, Cullen actually did have a sense of humor. It was dry and understated, but it was there. The wicked little grin cut across by the scar on his lip when he played up his reputation. “I think there are very few people who understand the innate humor in bees,” he said carefully. He didn’t want to end up with bees in his room in retaliation.

“S’what you think. Bees are the best.” She mimed one buzzing his face and stinging his nose. “Have to call you fancy-britches big nose.”

Dorian pushed her away, but gently and handed over the last of his bread. “And how are things with our resident Archanist?”

To say that Sera glowed at the mention of Dagna was an understatement. She could have lit up the entire fortress with her grin. “Aw, she’s so bitty. I want to tuck her in my pocket and carry her around with me. Could feed her bits of apple.”

So, while it hurt in some deep and finger-tingling way to sit and listen to Sera talk about finding love in the midst of the end of the world while he was about to be married to a man who he hardly knew, Dorian did it anyway. It was worth it to see Sera smile and listen to the enthusiasm in her voice. If he wished that his own circumstances were different, no one had to know and he could keep listening, goading for more details and making the appropriate happy sounds.

*

“So, I had tea with Josephine today.” 

Dorian looked up and up to find Bull standing in his alcove in the library, arms crossed over his chest. His stomach tightened and he set aside his current book. “Oh?”

“She was sorting through paper samples and asked my opinion.” He kept pausing, leaving room for Dorian to interrupt and take over the story, but Dorian had no intention of playing in to whatever Bull was trying to set up.

“You do have a keen eye for beauty. Too bad the one for fashion was lost.” He tipped his head to Bull’s atrocious pants. 

But Bull didn’t fall to their usual banter. “It was for invitations. Wedding invitations. Know anything about that?”

“Why would I—“

“Before you finish that, I should tell you I saw a draft of the letter for your upcoming nuptials with Cullen.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with his fingers. “Oh, those wedding invitations.”

“Seems sudden.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes, well. The rush of young love and all that.”

“Is that what this is?” He sounded so serious that Dorian found he couldn’t lie. He and Cullen hadn’t talked about what they should say, an oversight, but then Cullen had been so hopeful that it could be taken care for them that Dorian didn’t want to push. He’d been hoping as well.

It was a surprise to discover he didn’t want to lie. Not to his friends.

“Trevelyan thinks it will be politically savvy to have us paired. We need every advantage.” The words are rote and bitter in his mouth, the kind of thing his father might have had him say in response to his betrothed in Tevinter.

“He’s making you marry each other?”

That made it sound like Trevelyan was standing at their backs with a sword. “Cullen isn’t so bad.”

Bull grunted and took a seat on the window ledge. “He’s fine to look at, I’ll give you that. But he’s got a ton of shit buried deep in there just festering away. And he doesn’t like mages. Seems like a bad combination.”

“You don’t like mages and we get on all right.” Not at first, though that had been more on Dorian’s part than Bull’s. He kept expecting Bull to fight with him and instead Bull flirted. In another life, perhaps, Dorian would have been tempted to pursue him, but that particular avenue had closed.

“I don’t like _demons_. Mages are a whole other issue. Besides, you’re just a big ball of sweet underneath your pissy exterior. I don’t know that Cullen could take the time to find that out.”

Dorian made a strangled sound at being called sweet, but didn’t push the argument. He didn’t want to fight. “You know, you’re the third person today to tell me he’s not good enough for me.” He tamped down the old, hurt feeling when he wanted something too much. “One might begin to suspect I had friends in this wretched place.”

“Dorian,” he sighed out Dorian’s name. Whatever Bull might have said, he shook away with a neutral expression. “What I’m asking is: do you need help?”

What help could Bull possibly provide that wouldn’t get him and his Chargers kicked from the fortress as well? The Inquisition needed them. It needed them all. “No. I can handle this.”

Bull looked like he didn’t believe him, but he dropped the matter and let Dorian talk at him for a while about the things he’d discovered in the newest texts. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it wasn’t someone who understood all of the subtleties of his research. He missed the days of working with Alexius, before the whole world fell apart. Solas and Vivienne were brilliant, but focused on different aspects of magic. Meaningful conversations about magic were hard to come by, but just having Bull listen was good enough. 

Eventually, Bull got bored and pushed himself up off the ledge. He dropped a hand on Dorian’s shoulder before he left and said, “You let me know if you need me, right?”

“Yes, thank you.” But he had it in hand. He could take care of himself.

*

“Dorian, thank you for coming.” Trevelyan’s tone was light, though he did not look pleased. The door to his balcony was wide open letting in the cool night breeze. He had yet to stoke the fire in the hearth.

“Of course. What can I do for you?” What else could he do? He was afraid to ask, but knew there was no better way to get to the point.

Trevelyan hummed as he paced in front of his desk. “I’ve had several people come to see me today, all concerned about you.”

Dorian would have pinched the bridge of his nose if his better manners hadn’t kept him in check. “Oh?”

“Yes. It seems several of our common friends believe I’m treating you unfairly. Am I treating you unfairly, Dorian?”

It was not a good sign that Trevelyan had used his name so often in such a short amount of time. Sometimes the man had whole conversations with his companions and never said a single name. He used them to make a point, and this one wasn’t good. “Of course not.”

“Because to hear them tell it, I’m forcing you into something you don’t want to do. I gave you a choice, did I not?”

“You did.”

Trevelyan spun, his hands clasped behind his back. “I thought very much about your happiness Dorian. Cullen is an attractive man, and near your age. There are plenty of other allies who would have made this match—people not so charming—but I wanted you to be happy.” He closed the distance between them and it was all Dorian could do not to flinch. “Is that not enough?”

“It is, Inquisitor. I believe your companions were merely surprised by the news. Without a formal announcement, they’re learning piecemeal and it took them unawares.” He felt like he was walking on the edge of the parapet, covered in ice. A slight misstep, a moment’s hesitation, and he would plummet to the ground.

Trevelyan studied his face and Dorian stood, impassive. Finally, he stepped back, the dangerous edge to his attention faded. “You may be right. I had hoped to wait for your return from Cullen’s family for a formal announcement, but we may need to do it sooner. If the rumors are already in motion, it would be best to stay ahead of them.”

A week still until they could leave and Dorian did not relish the idea of walking the walls of the Skyhold brimming with Cullen’s men once they found out that their beloved Commander had succumbed to the manipulative Tevinter. “Perhaps a private announcement for our friends, and then something more formal while we’re away? News travels so fast and Cullen does wish to be the one to give his family the tale first hand.”

“Always so full of good ideas.” Trevelyan reached up and patted Dorian’s face. “We’ll have a dinner for the inner circle. I’ll talk to Josephine about releasing some of the Tevinter wine for the occasion.” Satisfied, Trevelyan went to light the hearth, a bright bloom of heat that eased through the room. “Oh, and Dorian? Do be sure you don’t give our friends any reason to worry over you, understood? This is a happy occasion.”

“Of course.”

* 

Much like the engagement, Trevelyan set up the gathering for the announcement quickly. The next night Dorian found himself mingling with the Inquisitor’s inner circle, accepting congratulations with his best smile. The wine was particularly fine, but Dorian didn’t dare drink enough to satisfy his thirst. Not with the sharp eye of Trevelyan on him at all times.

Blackwall, surprisingly, was the most honest in his congratulations. “Marriage can mellow a man.” He raised his cup. “You’ll be good for each other, I think.”

Dorian tried to imagine anyone committing to a life at Blackwall’s side and imagined that the stench alone would be enough to put off most suitors. Still, it was a kind thing to say. “Thank you. Have you ever considered it, yourself?”

“Ah, well,” he shifted, his eyes darting around the room. “That was a thought I left a long time ago.”

“Can Grey Wardens not marry?” He thought the Hero of Ferelden was married, but then the tales that made their way to Tevinter were often muddied and full of Imperial propaganda.

Blackwall drained his cup and then pointed it toward the table of food and drink. “I’m in need of a refill, can I get you something?”

Dorian shook his head and watched him leave. Odd man. Vivienne strode in a moment later to take his place. He’d hardly had a breath to himself all evening. 

“I suppose you could have chosen a worse companion. Imagine a lifetime with Blackwall.” They both shuddered delicately. “I am surprised, my dear. That’s not easy to do. You’ve kept this arrangement quite the secret.”

“It was very sudden.” Truth through misdirection. The best way to handle any kind of difficult conversation. 

She was watching him closely. “I do hope the best for you, darling. Finding love is such a difficult thing, but the rewards are great.”

He didn’t twitch, he didn’t take a sip of his wine. Though he wanted to grind his teeth and knock over the table of delicate cakes to his left, he kept his smile and his charm. “To our rewards.” He raised his cup and they drank, eyes never leaving each other.

“Perhaps you might see to your betrothed. He looks like he’s in over his head.” She nodded behind Dorian and he turned to see Cullen deep in conversation with Bull, his face creased in a frown. The man had no sense of propriety. He would ruin them both with his displays.

“Excuse me, my dear.” He left his empty cup on the table and instead scooped up a plate of savory pastries. He shoved them, politely, into Cullen’s hand as he neared. “Eat something and do try not to look so miserable,” he said around a smile that he then turned on Bull. “What are you doing? Are you trying to make this harder?”

Bull crossed his arms over his chest and if Dorian thought he had any hope of moving him, he would have tried to uncross them by force. “I don’t like what’s happening here, big guy. It doesn’t feel right. I joined up to save the world, not be part of something that does this kind of thing to people who are supposed to be friends.”

“I would have thought that you, of all of us, would understand the good of the whole.”

Bull shrugged in concession. “When it makes sense. You don’t send a kid who wants to be a baker to the front lines because you need soldiers. He’s going to be a bad solider and you won’t have anyone to feed the troops.”

Maker save him from Qun philosophy. “Regardless. Trevelyan threw us a party and the least you can do, the very least, is smile for two hours and pretend to have a good time. If Vivienne noticed, you can be sure Trevelyan isn’t far behind.”

And, as if he’d been called, the Inquisitor narrowed in on them, his smile broad and bright and he clasped Dorian and Cullen’s shoulders. “It’s a nice gathering, isn’t it?”

“Delightful.” Dorian drew one of the pastries off the plate in Cullen’s hands and popped it in his mouth. “Josephine is a wonder. How she can accomplish so much on such short notice is a wonder.”

The Inquisitor nodded in agreement and took a pastry for himself. “I came to offer my congratulations and my apologies. Leliana has a missive for me that mustn’t wait. Please, stay and enjoy. We don’t get to have moments like this often enough.” He squeezed Dorian’s shoulder and when he walked away, Cullen rubbed at his own. Trevelyan had a strong grip.

Cullen arched his neck, looking for an exit. “At least we can go now.”

“You’ll do no such thing. The Inquisitor asked us to stay. You can handle another half an hour. No doubt he’ll ask Josephine for a report in the morning and we don’t want her to tell him we left the second he was out the door. Eat something, mingle and try to smile. I’ll come get you when it’s appropriate to depart.” He would have glared had he not felt the gaze of Vivienne between his shoulder blades. Instead, he gave a slight bow and wandered off to talk with Josephine about her catering and the latest gossip out of Orlais.

Sera was the first to leave, then Blackwall, then Solas. Once he saw Josephine cover a yawn, he knew it was safe. He gave his regards to those still present and then went to collect Cullen who was deep in conversation with Cassandra. “—should tell him.”

“He doesn’t need to know.” Cullen jerked back, guilty, as Dorian approached. Interesting, but not crucial to the moment, Dorian filed it away as something to consider at a later date. He needed to get out of the hall and behind a closed door before he started screaming.

“Cassandra. I’m afraid I’ll have to steal your companion. It’s quite late and we both have many things to do in the morning.”

Cassandra opened her mouth, the flash of her eyes marking the inappropriate comment to come, but she shook her head after a glance at Cullen. “Of course. Cullen, we will speak on this later.”

“As you wish,” he sounded resigned and Dorian didn’t blame him. When Cassandra had a point of focus, she could be relentless. When she discovered he hadn’t read any of Varric’s books, she hounded him until he gave in and started on Swords and Shields. It had been a terrible mistake. They were awful, and no amount of mocking could deter Cassandra’s desire to talk about them. She knew they weren’t good, but she loved them anyway.

Dorian slid his arm through Cullen’s and steered him from the room, uncomfortable with the display. He also knew it was necessary. “We’re almost done, now. You’ll walk me to my door and then you can be off.”

Silence followed them on the walk to Dorian’s room. For his own sake, Dorian was too tired to keep up the charade in the darkness of the fortress and he could feel Cullen’s tension along the points of contact of their arms. If they were going to keep up Trevelyan’s rouse, Cullen was going to have to get better.

“Could I have a word before you go?”

Cullen hesitated for a moment, and then followed Dorian into his room. The door closed and Dorian drooped forward, the straight line of his spine, the smile, the cheerful air all cast aside for a lack of audience. Or a lack of most of an audience.

“That was an act?”

Dorian spun, furious. “Of course it was an act. Did you think I was enjoying myself? Do you remember that I am only here at Skyhold because the Inquisitor believes I am of use to him? If I want to stay, I must play to his game, which means smiling when he throws us a party and acting as if I have any choice in the matter.” He lit the fire in the hearth with a flick of his wrist and was not a little pleased to see Cullen jump. “You are not the only one forced into this.”

Hands raised, Cullen took a step back. “My apologies. I was only surprised. You play the game very well.”

“From a lifetime of training. I don’t expect you to be able to do the same in a matter of weeks, but you _must_ do better. Trevelyan must believe that we are happy. For some reason that is what he wants.” His own father had not cared for his happiness, only his duty. Trevelyan cared for both. Dorian wasn’t sure which was worse, only that he didn’t care for either. 

Perhaps it would be better to run. Cullen’s kindness couldn’t last. Not in the face of a lifetime together. Better to try and find his own way while he could. What did comfort and friendship mean if they were bound up in such a lie?

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Cullen sighed and rubbed his fingers over his temples. “I don’t like parties.”

“So I gathered.” Dorian let himself feel a little bit of tenderness at Cullen’s drawn face. “It might help to think of it like a battlefield. The same principles apply; you have to be aware of your surroundings and your opponents. Keep your friends close and well defended. You fight with words instead of blades, that’s all.”

Cullen didn’t relax at Dorian’s advice. “I prefer to keep my battles separate from my dinner.”

“Don’t we all?” He drew in a breath and let the last of his lingering tension bleed from him. “The good news is that there’s only one big party left. If we make it to the wedding, that is.”

Cullen crossed the room and took Dorian’s hand, and it was all he could do not to jump and jerk away. The touch was innocent. Cullen’s hand was warm and gentle, his face so, so serious. “I’m with you, Dorian. I am here as far as you want to take this. I meant it when I made the offer.”

He couldn’t look away from Cullen’s warm eyes, his intense focus. He swallowed. “I believe you.”

The moment broke and Cullen took a step back, a dark flush starting at the base of his throat and working its way up. “I should go. I’ll see you for chess tomorrow?”

Dorian found he was oddly looking forward to it. “If you can make the time.”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so you all really dislike the Inquisitor in this. I am so surprised. I mean, I'm not under the impression that he's a good guy, but you really want him to get what's coming. I love it. 
> 
> Hopefully you're still with me. There is, uh, significantly more to this story than I was expecting. I'm already at my projected word count and I'm not even halfway finished with what I want to do. I tell myself I need to learn to be concise, but that's clearly not working out so well for me.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you ready?” Cullen poked his head into Dorian’s room. It was barely dawn and they were due to be on the road already.

In the days leading up to their trip to Cullen’s family, they’d played through a few more games of chess and had taken dinner together in the Herald’s Rest. Cullen could be a good dinner companion, when he wasn’t distracted by thoughts of his troops, or the weather or supply shipments. Dorian supposed he might have been a less than optimum companion as well, overly aware of every glance cast in their direction, certain that every time someone leaned in to whisper to a companion, he and Cullen were the object of the conversation.

None of which was helped by the fact that Cullen, when he wasn’t distracted, made an obvious effort to be nice to him. He asked about Dorian’s day and his studies and his habits. He smiled at Dorian’s cutting observations of the other members of the Inquisition. By the end of dinner, Dorian didn’t know where to look with Cullen’s regard so intense.

He’d hardly slept at all, worried about spending days in Cullen’s company, worried what rumors would start as they left together, worried about the reaction of the rest of the fortress of their impending nuptials. Worried, of all the ridiculous things, that Cullen’s family wouldn’t _like_ him. What did it matter? There was nothing he could do to change his circumstances unless he packed his things and set out into the wilderness. Worrying only kept him awake at night. 

He slung his pack over his shoulder. “Almost. What’s an appropriate visitor’s gift in Ferelden? Can you get a bouquet of puppies?”

Cullen laughed and held the door open. “You don’t need to bring a gift. Come on, before we start losing daylight.”

With a last look around his room, Dorian gave up his last minute attempt to delay the inevitable and followed Cullen down to the stables. Most of Skyhold was still quiet. A handful of Cullen’s soldiers patrolled the walls but any other waking activity was sealed behind closed door. Dorian was almost surprised that Trevelyan wasn’t in attendance to see them off. 

“Are you nervous?” he asked as they mounted up and headed out of the gates.

“Not nervous, exactly.” Cullen squinted into the brightening daylight. “I haven’t been home in a long time. I’m a little apprehensive about what’s changed.” He shook himself. “How are you?”

“Delightful.” Terrified, more like, but there was no point in discussing it. Worse than Cullen’s family disapproving, which, to be honest was almost guaranteed, was the idea that they might approve of him. 

It was bad enough that Trevelyan hovered around them like a bird of prey, congratulating them on their deepening friendship. On the few occasions he was able to forget the reason they were spending time together, Trevelyan swept in and ruined the moment. Faced with Cullen’s family, there would be no forgetting, no cautious build toward something like friendship. Though he longed for a respite from Trevelyan’s constant presence, he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which Cullen’s family would appreciate Dorian in their lives. He would have be happier to take a few days to himself in Redcliffe.

They kept a decent pace through the morning and Dorian lost himself in the monotony of the ride. Inquisition forces had long since cleared the area of threats, so there was nothing to distract them from their travel. Dorian almost wished for a small group of bandits just for the chance to set something on fire. Cullen tended to be jumpy around his magic and as a courtesy, Dorian kept it in tight control. The small, menial tasks he often used his magic for, he did by hand instead. It was tedious, but better than having Cullen jump or tense every few minutes. 

When they stopped in the evening, Cullen found a small stream where they could water their horses, and with enough even ground for their tent. Since joining the Inquisition and becoming part of Trevelyan’s parties, Dorian had become accustomed to sharing a tent. Bull was often his companion, but he’d been known to share with Varric or Solas on occasion and even the Inquisitor once or twice. It was an expected part of his routine, no longer strange.

Sharing with Cullen was a different matter. He was aware of every shift, every breath, both his own and Cullen’s. Long after they settled for the night, Dorian stared up at the ceiling of the tent and tried to will himself to sleep. After one already sleepless night, he should have been exhausted, but he couldn’t stop thinking. He was considering getting up under the pretense of keeping watch when Cullen huffed out a sigh. 

He reached out into the space between then and rested a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Go to sleep, Dorian.” His voice was soft and worn, as soothing as Cullen’s touch. The firm pressure should have been stifling, he should have wanted to shake him off, but instead it was grounding. 

He let out a long sigh, closed his eyes and fell asleep with Cullen’s hand still on his shoulder.

#

Dorian felt hesitant the next day as they closed in on Cullen’s family. Cullen didn’t say anything about Dorian’s restlessness, didn’t seem to remember it at all, but Dorian couldn’t stop thinking about the comforting weight of Cullen’s hand on him through the night. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find Cullen attractive. He was a bit beefier than Dorian’s usual type, but he had a sweet smile and curls that Dorian wanted to bury his fingers in. 

But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t a real relationship. The demands of physical attraction were nothing new, but he’d hoped, he’d wanted, when he came to Ferelden to leave that kind of life behind. It hurt to find Cullen pleasing and know that there was nothing else for them. 

Near the end of the day, as the sun started to sink into the horizon, he and Cullen finally reached the family farm. Whatever Dorian had expected of Cullen’s family, it was not a hoard of blonde haired, brown-eyed giants. They flooded out of the farm house as Dorian and Cullen branched off from the main road. There were half the number of dogs as he expected and twice the number of children.

Dorian hung back as Cullen slid off his horse and was enveloped in a hug from an oak tree of a man, a head taller than Cullen, but with the same jaw and curling hair. A woman, closer to Cullen’s height took him in her arms next before he was passed around to three adults who had to be Cullen’s siblings. The Commander of the Inquisition was such an imposing man, it was a revelation to see him as the shortest person in the group.

As the ferocity of their greeting died down, Dorian dismounted and approached, already aware of the curious glances sent in his direction. He kept a polite expression on his face, but couldn’t help clutching at the reins of his horse as he drew near.

“I know you’ve been gone a long time, but that’s no reason to let your manners slip. Introduce your friend.” Cullen’s mother smiled at him, warm and welcoming and Dorian didn’t know how to respond. Not when he knew what was coming next.

Cullen detached himself from his siblings and crossed to Dorian’s side. “This is Dorian Pavus. We’re engaged to be married.”

There was a single beat of complete silence and then the Rutherford clan erupted. Cullen’s mother came forward to hug him, followed a moment later by his father. They fired questions at Cullen and at Dorian so quickly and at such a volume that Dorian had no idea what was going on. He’d never in his life met people so familiar with him—touching, talking, pulling. Even after a year of friendship the most he could expect from Bull or Varric was a pat on the shoulder. 

He gave Cullen a panicked look, but he was too busy in conversation with his brother. Cullen’s father seemed to understand, though, and let out a sharp whistle that cut the conversation in an instant. “Bowen, take their horses around. Devlin, grab their packs. Let’s get inside, no need to stand out in the wind.” He squeezed Dorian’s shoulder and led the way into the sprawling farmhouse.

Once inside, there was time for proper introductions. Dorian learned Cullen’s parent’s names, Thalia and Easton, and those of his siblings, Mia, Branson and Rosalie. There were, as promised half a dozen children whose names Dorian could not recall. They seemed as wary of Dorian as they did of Cullen and it was just a little reassuring. 

Dorian let Cullen carry the conversation. It was clear he was eager to talk with his family and it was easy enough to stay silent, answer politely when questioned and let Cullen have his moment. With the affection he had for them, Dorian didn’t understand why he’d stayed away so long. Had his own family been so warm, Dorian would have been hard pressed to ever leave. 

Then came the food. Rationing in Skyhold had never really gone out of style. Despite their stronger political position and larger coffers, it was still difficult to get goods to the fortress, during the winter months in particular, and the head of the kitchens worked closely with their quartermaster to make sure there was enough to feed everyone, if not overfeed them. At the Rutherford farm, there was enough food brought out to feed three times the number of people at the table. 

It was no wonder they all grew so big. 

They all sat at a table long enough to hold the whole family on long benches. Dorian was pressed up against Cullen with Mia’s husband on his other side. The conversation ranged as Cullen tried to catch up his family on the last several years of his life without delving too much into the specifics of the business of the Inquisition. It was interesting to watch.

“Tell us about yourself,” Easton asked as he turned down a third helping. He hadn’t even wanted the second, but it seemed rude to refuse. “Cullen’s never brought someone home before.”

They hadn’t discussed what Dorian would say on their ride out to the farm and he wasn’t sure what to say. Everything about him could be a potential sticking point for the Ferelden farming family. “I’m from Tevinter.”

“Can you do magic?” one of the little ones asked him, her face lit up as she leaned forward across the table.

He looked to Cullen, uncertain if he should answer. They had a Templar for a son, well, an ex-Templar. Cullen nodded, though Dorian supposed that his staff was something of a give away. “I’m a mage, yes.” He decided an answer was better than a demonstration, despite the girl’s overeager face. 

Branson leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. “That’s a change. I remember there was a time when the thought of a free mage would have sent Cullen running for the hills.”

Before Dorian could ask or Branson could elaborate, Cullen broke in. “Dorian is exceptional. He’s an advisor to the Inquisitor and has been instrumental in our fight.” He sounded ready to fight on Dorian’s behalf.

“All right. No need to start something on the first day of the visit.” Thalia stood from the table. “Why don’t you all start packing up food to take home with you and I’ll show Cullen and Dorian to their room.” She swept out of the room, expecting to be followed. 

“We’ll put you in the guest room. I think Mia’s planning to stay here with the boys, but Harshm will have to head back to their farm tonight.” She pushed the door open on a plain, neat room with a wide bed and windows facing the setting sun. Their packs were already stacked in the corner of the room. She pulled at Cullen’s face and kissed his forehead. “Take a minute to yourselves and come back out when you’re ready. Bowen fancies herself a bard. She’ll want to sing for you.”

Thalia left them alone and Dorian stood in the middle of the room, his hands hanging at his sides as he tried to process the evening. Cullen favored him with a sympathetic smile. “I know they can be overwhelming—”

“They’re lovely.” The closest thing he’d seen to a family that actually loved each other was Felix’s, but it had just been the three of them. And that love turned dangerous. “Should we wait until everyone leaves to tell them we’ll need separate rooms?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “With Mia and her family staying there won’t be room. I can sleep on the floor, though.”

Of course. He covered his discomfort at the lack of privacy with a light and airy tone. “You ridiculous man. The bed is plenty big enough to share. And you are to be my husband, after all.” He winked and was rewarded by Cullen flushing bright red. It was so charming, Dorian had to stop himself from reaching out to touch. Playfulness might be allowed, familiarity was not something he should expect. 

“Do you need another moment?” Cullen asked, his steady voice at odds with his bright face. “If we wait too longer someone will come to fetch us.”

He shook his head, though he didn’t feel ready, and followed Cullen back into the fray. The night wore on as Mia told delightfully embarrassing stories about a small Cullen and Bowen sang through three different ballads. She was actually quite good and could make life as a bard if her mother ever decided to let her go. As Easton talked about the changes to the farm, Dorian stood and excused himself. The room had grown quite warm and loud and he needed just a moment to gather himself.

He stood on the back porch, the cool night air cleared his head. The farm was quiet and overhead the stars were so bright and clear. He breathed deep, wondering at how he could feel so alone in the midst of so many people. Perhaps because it was all a lie. He wasn’t there with Cullen because they’d found love against all odds. 

“Cullen couldn’t wait to leave this farm when he was little.” Mia stepped out onto the porch and found a space next to his side. “He was always running off, playing Templar instead of watching the animals or helping with the fields. After Kinloch, I begged him to come home. I went to Kirkwall, did he tell you?”

Dorian shook his head. There were so many things Cullen had never told him, things that he most likely didn’t want Dorian to know. Perhaps not anyone. He didn’t know how to stop Mia from saying more without giving away the circumstances of their engagement. 

“He looked terrible, but he refused to come back. He said he needed to be doing something.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I thought he was going to work himself to death. When I heard about Kirkwall,” she shuddered. “It’s good he has someone to look after him. He needs it. And I haven’t seen him smile so much in years.”

She left him to head back inside and Dorian stayed out for just a little longer. How many things were a part of Cullen’s past that his family would assume he’d shared with Dorian? What parts of Cullen’s life would they think he had access to, when he still didn’t know the man’s birthday or his favorite color? And how it was possible that Cullen seemed happier to his family, when they were under orders to marry. They were so warm and inviting, so willing to take Dorian into their little fold. How long would that last if they knew the truth?

He very specifically, determinedly did not think about his own family.

#

Cullen, his parents, and Mia talked long into the night, sharing old memories and new adventures. Dorian could have listened for hours, but eventually, Thalia stood and waved them all away. “There’s still work to be done in the morning.”

Cullen stood and helped Dorian up, even though he was perfectly capable of standing on his own. As his family wandered off to their own beds, Cullen led Dorian to the guest room and shut the door. They changed into sleep cloths in silence, much as they had on the road and the, in moments, they were tucked in the bed in the guest room. They were close enough that Dorian could feel Cullen’s breaths and the heat of his body.

“Is this your childhood bedroom?” Dorian asked in the strained silence. Neither of them were sleeping, what was the point in pretending?

“No, I shared the one down the hall with Brandon.”

Dorian made a thoughtful noise. “Shame. Some men enjoy the thought of defiling their childhood bed.”

Cullen choked on a laugh and his body was suddenly very much warmer. “I wasn’t here long enough to have those kinds of thoughts.”

The echo of Mia’s words tripped through Dorian’s thoughts and he couldn’t make them stop. “Mia worries about you.”

“Mia worries about everyone. She took the role of eldest very seriously. I’m fine.” It sounded like a rote response, the kind practiced over and over until it could be said without wavering. 

He wanted to say more, but he was unsure about the reception. Dorian didn’t want to keep secrets, but he liked the mild truce between them and felt that if he dug into Mia’s words, it would end. Discretion seemed the better part of the night, so Dorian chose to not push. “All right.”

Next to him, Cullen’s breathing deepened and his body relaxed into sleep but it was hours before Dorian was able to do the same. 

#

“I don’t like this.” It was too early, too dark and the chickens kept pecking at his hands as he tried to get their eggs. 

Cullen, heartless as he was, laughed. “Why do you think I was so intent on leaving?” He finished his side of the coop and came over to help Dorian finish. “Be glad they don’t know you very well or you’d be out mucking the stables.”

Dorian shuddered. He thought living at Skyhold without servants and on the road with Trevelyan was a strong and hard life. He was wrong. This was worse. “This isn’t the plan then? Retire to a farm with dogs and druffalo?”

“Farms aren’t really meant for retirement. It’s a lot of work to keep them running. I always thought that, when I was done, I might find a quiet house in a village somewhere. Close enough to Redcliffe or Denerim for supplies, but far enough away for the quiet.” Cullen pulled the last egg and handed it over for Dorian’s basket. “What about you? You probably imagined some towering spire in, where was it? Minrathous?”

Dorian laughed at Cullen’s hesitant question. “No, not at all. I expect I’ll never be able to return to Tevinter.” Especially not if he was married to a Ferelden man. No, Dorian had spent a good deal of time not thinking about his future. When he left the Pavus estate, he’d started a long string of days doing nothing but running. Keeping ahead of those who would kill him took up more than enough of his time.

“Do you think you could be happy, then? Living in a village?”

Maker save him from men who wanted him to be happy. He was saved from a reply by Mia’s entrance into the coop as she scolded them from taking too long and ushered them out. Though Cullen didn’t ask him again, his question lingered in Dorian’s thoughts.

As the day wore on, Mia’s children grew less wary of their uncle and by the afternoon he had one up on his shoulders and another swinging from his arms. Dorian thought they looked a moment away from permanent injury, but no one else seemed alarmed.

“I take it yours isn’t a rough and tumble kind of family?” Easton came to stand next to Dorian under the shade of the maple in the front yard.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “Not as such.” Praise and anger were doled out verbally, sometimes in writing. Never through touch, unless it was his mother’s forefinger and thumb twisting his ear to lead him from a room. Even when his father tried to use blood magic on him, he didn’t touch Dorian, trusting instead his favored slave. 

The child on Cullen’s shoulders leaned back too far, his hands twisted in Cullen’s hair, close to toppling them all. Dorian had a barrier ready to soften their fall when Easton placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Cullen’s got it under control.” And he did. He let the boy in his arms down and then reached up to swing the one on his shoulders to the ground and sent them off chasing each other to the east field. “See? You’ve got good instincts not to see them hurt, but sometimes it’s better that way.” 

“I don’t see how that would ever be the case.” He imagined the little one with a broken arm and shuddered at the thought.

He was quiet a moment. “Cullen says you’re a good fighter. You don’t learn to fight without getting hurt, right?”

“Yes, but they’re _children_.”

“All the better they learn now than when they’re too big and end up really hurting someone.” It was a strangely pragmatic way of looking at things considering how open Easton was in his affection with his family. He often had a hand on a shoulder or back and kisses for his children and grandchildren equally. “Just something to think about. Though I suppose it’s good to have one who’ll coddle the little ones. Thalia was always a bit of a soft touch.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “You know we can’t, there won’t be any children.” Why else would Easton be giving him parenting advice?

Easton shrugged. “War time’s funny business. Lots of little ones end up needing a place. You can’t tell me you never thought of what it might be like.”

Uncomfortable with the turn in conversation, Dorian tried to make eye contact with Cullen, but he was too busy petting the family dogs. “Tevinter isn’t kind to men of my inclination. This would have never happened there.”

“Still, can’t keep a man from dreaming, can they?”

Dorian had found it better not to think about the things he could not have. It made the absence of them easier to bear. It took the complete betrayal of his father, blood magic, and scars to make him leave his home. Dreaming of something different never occurred to him. 

“Excuse me,” he said and headed inside, not caring if he was being rude. Suddenly, Cullen’s family was too much. They thought their son was entering into something wonderful, they were all so happy for Cullen and by extension Dorian. 

He closed himself in the room he shared with Cullen and sat on the bed, trying to calm his breathing. He couldn’t do this. It was too painful to see all of the things that could have been his, had his life had been just a little different. What would happen in six months if Dorian decided to stay but Cullen realized it wasn’t worth it?

Someone knocked on the door and then Cullen’s soft voice trickled through. “Dorian? Can I come in?”

Cullen was polite enough that if Dorian told him to go away, he would. Instead, Dorian drew in a breath, squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, and then got up to open the door. “Of course,” he swept out an arm for Cullen to enter.

“Are you all right? Dad said he thought he upset you.”

Dorian shook his head. “No, of course not. Your father is lovely. I’m just not feeling well. All this wholesome air and early rising, I think.” He could hold it together. He could pretend for a few more days and when they were back at Skyhold, he could gather his things and go. Better to break it off now when it would hurt less than in six months’ time when he was bound up in Cullen’s life. 

Cullen raised a hand, as if to touch Dorian and then let it fall. “We’re about ready to head back out into the fields. Why don’t you stay here and try to sleep. I’ll come get you for dinner.” He left and closed the door behind him. 

Alone with his thoughts, Dorian stretched out on the bed. He didn’t intend to sleep, but the next thing he knew, the front door slammed, jerking him awake. His mouth was dry and he was disoriented from too much sleep, but he hauled himself to his feet. He didn’t want to be caught in bed, the very image of the lazy magister.

“I’m just saying that he seems skittish and I want to know you’re being careful with him.” Easton’s voice echoed down the hall and Dorian stopped. Ferelden’s had some ridiculous saying about never hearing good things while eavesdropping, but Dorian had saved himself considerable trouble over the years by listening in places he shouldn’t

“Careful? Dad, he could burn your face off without breaking a sweat.”

Easton hummed. “There’s a difference between strength of hand and strength of heart. You know that. The way he watched you playing with the boys it looked like it hurt him and it’s hard coming to accept things when you’ve only ever told yourself you can’t have them. Took your ma damn near ten years before she stopped thinking someone was going to take it all away.”

Dorian didn’t want to hear anymore, so he scuffed his feet on the hard wood floor and went out to meet the family. He put on his best persona, his most charming face. That had been his mistake riding in to the farm. He’d tried too much to be himself. He forgot that this was a business transaction and Cullen’s invitation was a kindness to get him out of Skyhold for a few days. He’d survived parties with knives and poison and political ruin. He could coast through a family gathering.

He charmed the children with a harmless show of magic, snow floating down from the ceiling that disappeared before it ever hit the floor. For the adults he pulled out his best, most family-friendly stories from his time in Tevinter. As the evening wore down, he could at least feel confident that Cullen’s family wouldn’t think Cullen had terrible taste in partners. Perhaps it would have been better to be silent and sullen so they would congratulate Cullen on his loss, but it felt better to leave them smiling. 

The children were put to bed and Dorian was ready for a break himself when Easton pulled him aside to share some wine on the back porch. Cullen and Mia were no where in sight and he had no reason to refuse, though it felt like a trap. 

“I’d like to apologize for upsetting you this afternoon.”

Dorian shook his head. “No need. I wasn’t feeling like myself.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. Cullen told me. About the arrangement.”

Dorian sucked in a gasp. 

“No one else knows, but the boy can’t keep a lie off his face around me.”

The wine was bitter in his mouth and sour in his stomach, but he drank it anyway. “That’s a poor showing for the Commander of an army.”

Easton laughed. “He might be commander now, but I knew him when he stole peaches from the neighbor’s farm. And I know what it looks like when somebody’s thinking of running.” He peered at Dorian and took a swig of the wine.

“Neither of us wants this. He’s kind to consider it, but it’s not feasible.” He didn’t know what else there was to say. Cullen deserved someone who would fit into his family, who would fill it instead of taking away from it. 

“Thalia and I were an arranged marriage. It’s not so uncommon in these parts. The farms are far enough apart that it’s hard to get the younger ones to meet each other. Her father was a harsh man and set on getting his kids out of his way as soon as possible. We only met a handful of times before we were wed.”

They seemed to like each other so much, Dorian was surprised. “I didn’t think that was a Ferelden custom.”

“Not a custom, but not uncommon.” He drew a breath and looked out over the fields. “Cullen is a good man, he tries hard and is devoted to his duty. But he’s tentative in his personal life. He needs a push.”

Dorian followed Easton’s gaze to the field, but couldn’t find the answers he seemed to find. “Are you saying,” he trailed off.

“I’m saying don’t let this go just because you’re afraid. Everyone’s afraid.” Easton left him to the scenery and his wine and it was a long time before he headed back inside. 

#

They packed up to leave in the morning. Cullen would have liked a longer visit, but the Inquisitor couldn’t spare them. Thalia piled them up with food and scarves and hugged them both close and Dorian didn’t know where to put his hands. The scarf was warm, though and he thanked her.

Mia pulled Dorian aside as Cullen made his goodbyes with Easton. “Please tell me you’re a better letter writer than my brother. I get back one for every ten I send to him. You’d think his fingers were broken.”

“I can certainly try.” It was hard to maintain a sense of distance when she was so close and so hopeful. “I’m not always at Skyhold, though.”

“Do. Do try. Though I’ll worry less knowing he has you to look after him.” She kissed his cheek and then Easton swooped in for a hug that strained his ribs.

“You think on what we talked about.” He lowered his voice. “And if you do need somewhere to run, come here.”

Dorian couldn’t speak past the tightness in his throat, just nodded into Easton’s chest. 

When the last of the hugs had been delivered and packs had been stowed, Dorian and Cullen headed out into the crisp morning. They were silent for a while, letting the sound of horse hooves make their conversation. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer.” Dorian said after watching Cullen turn to look back at the farm for the fifth time, though they were long out of sight. 

“It was a good visit. Any longer and I fear I’d run out of things to say. I’m not much of the person they knew.”

“Would you mind if I wrote to Mia?”

Cullen smiled. “She’d like that. And I imagine you’d be much more diligent about it than I. I never know what to tell her to keep her from worrying, so I end up saying nothing at all.”

They road on and Dorian felt something in him ease. The talk with Easton had helped. It didn’t give him hope, exactly, but it made the whole affair less unseemly. He was undecided, still, but he didn’t feel so sick about it all, and that was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew, when I was planning this piece, that I wanted to have a scene with Cullen's family. I didn't think there would end up being so much of it. Idk, I guess life on the farm needed a little more time. 
> 
> Also, naming parents is a pain in the ass.


	4. Chapter 4

On their return to Skyhold, Dorian had hardly any time to consider his plight. Almost as soon as he unpacked, word came from Trevelyan that he was on rotation for their next excursion. Three weeks in Crestwood. Three weeks of rain. Sodden boots, ruined clothes, the damp, mildew smell that hung to every nook of the whole area. They could have finished much sooner, but as usual, Trevelyan insisted on haring off on ridiculous requests. They ran errands for a _spirit_ , but didn’t have time to stop early enough that their gear would dry before morning. To say nothing of Dorian’s anger that it seemed Trevelyan was willing to do favors for the dead, but wouldn’t take Dorian’s desires into consideration.

Unable to keep a civil tongue with Trevelyan, once they set camp for the night, Dorian took up a new hobby. True to his word, Dorian began a halting correspondence with Mia and while he was writing out the boring damp tale of his existence, he threw in a letter to Cullen as well. He didn’t expect anything from either one of them and was surprised by a pair of letters waiting when they returned to Caer Bronach.

Rylan had done a magnificent job getting Bronach up and running since they cleared out the bandits. There were rooms set aside for each of them, small but dry and entirely private. Dorian took off as soon as they cleared the gates, forgoing dinner for a chance to stretch out on a bed, alone. 

Mia thanked him for writing and gave him the gossip around the farm. It was all very ordinary and small compared to the business of the Inquisition, but Dorian was enthralled. Her letters had the same easy tone as her company and by the time he was done, he felt he knew her and her family better. 

Cullen, on the other hand, wrote letters like he was filling out a requisition form. He gave Dorian a run-down of morale, the state of the practice field, and the weather. An entire paragraph on the weather. Though the bed was comfortable, Dorian was unable to stop himself from rising to write out a response.

_Dearest Cullen,_

_Have you ever written a letter before? No wonder Mia despairs of you learning proper communication. Here is a tip. Unless you hate the person with whom you are corresponding, please never, ever discuss the weather. You are a bright man, I know you have more to say than the state of the practice field._

_I appreciate your attempt. Do better._

_Dorian_

He signed with a flourish and then ducked out of the room to hand it to a messenger for outgoing missives. Only after a complete night’s sleep did he reconsider the wisdom of his letter. What Dorian intended as witty and charming, Cullen might see as sharp and offensive. He chewed on the worry as they cleared out bandits, drained an actual lake and then met a Gray Warden in a cave.

Sometimes his life seemed so ridiculous and so far removed from his expectations of his future, he hardly believed it himself.

No further correspondence came during his time in Crestwood, though he did develop a lingering cough that only got worse as they made their way back to Skyhold. As they crossed the gates, Dorian made his way to a healer for a potion and then slept for the next twelve hours. When he woke, his chest didn’t feel so tight, and he was consumed with worry over his letter all over again.

Nothing to do but see the man himself, he supposed. He grabbed bread and cheese on his way through the main hall and then stalked across the breezy fortress to Cullen’s office. There was a wild-eyed soldier outside Cullen’s door who looked relieved when he saw Dorian. It was an unusual experience.

“Careful, ser. He’s in a mood, but maybe you can talk him down?”

Dorian waved him off and then opened the door to the office without knocking. A bottle of something sailed past his face and smashed against the wall. The scent hit him, thick and sweet: lyrium. “Cullen?” He wanted to make light of the action, but the desperate anguish on Cullen’s face was too much.

“Dorian.” He was pale and trembling and there wasn’t a trace of pleasure at Dorian’s appearance. “I’m not able to speak with you, at the moment. Please, excuse me.” Cullen wasn’t going anywhere and it was clear he expected Dorian to leave. 

His hand on the door, Dorian almost did leave, but the pain in Cullen’s face made him stay. He closed the door and came closer to the desk. There was an open box on Cullen’s desk, and the accoutrements so common among Templars. “Lyrium is destructive for non-mages.”

Cullen glared at him. “Thank you, Dorian. I’m well aware. I’m doing my best not—“ he broke off and slammed his fist against his desk. “I asked you to leave.” His voice was wrecked and his face pinched. Dorian wanted to reach across the desk and sooth a hand against his unshaven cheek.

“I can help you with this. There must be research—“

“No.” Cullen glared at him, his focus intense and not quite the Cullen Dorian was used to. “Do not dig into this. No one can know. The Inquisitor cannot know. He’ll make me take it.” He squeezed his eyes shut, hands shaking. “Get out.”

As if Dorian were in the habit of confiding secrets to Trevelyan. The man had a mind like a bear trap. He kept every nugget of information for future use, no matter how small. “Be reasonable.”

“Go!” Cullen shouted, chest heaving with breath.

Dorian took a step back, and then another. “As you wish.” He left at a calm, sedate pace. He was not running, he was not fleeing. Outside the office Dorian was grateful to find no solider present for his appearance. He went to the library, steady, steady, and buried himself in his work. 

When a soldier delivered a note from Cullen in the evening, Dorian burned it without reading.

*

Cullen sent two more notes that Dorian did not read in the following days. It was his own fault, he knew that. He kept thinking that Cullen’s initial agreement was the same as kindness or interest. It was an arrangement, nothing more. What did it matter if they liked each other? 

Better to shut that hope away before he got carried away. Too many books as a child with happy endings, that was the problem. He was not the hero of the story, no one was going to come save him. If he wanted something different, he had to make it for himself. Why, after so many years, was that a lesson he had to learn over and over and over again?

Luckily, he had little time to worry as the Inquisitor announced his plans to gather his army and march to Adamant to confront Clarel. In the mass of the army, Dorian kept company with Bull and Varric. He was aware that Cullen was somewhere in the ranks, but he hardly saw him. Dorian wasn’t involved in war council meeting and Cullen rarely left his troops. It was better that way.

It was slow progress across Orlais, with not much to do as the wider reaching scouts found and dispatched trouble before it reached the main body of the army. He was restless, spending his days on horseback. Occasionally Hawke would ride back to spend time with Varric and spin stories for them. He found he liked the Champion of Kirkwall quite a bit. She was gruff and quick and very deeply in love with life, even the terrible parts.

They were passing acquaintances, which was why it was such a surprise when she fell back to ride next to him one afternoon. He greeted her with a nod. “Champion.”

“You can call me Hawke. Most everyone does.” It was true. The only exception was Cassandra who refused to address her at all.

“Hawke, then. How do you find our fine army?”

She scanned the crowd of soldiers. “Makes me happy I never had any inclination to go to the Conclave. Could have ended up leading this mess and I don’t think I’m up to the job.”

“They invited you?”

“Sort of. I think it was a trap or a formality.” She shook her head. “Not much for formalities, me. Besides, I don’t think you would have been able to convince Cullen to take orders from me.”

“Ah.”

She threw a sly smile in his direction. “There is a man who likes order, and rules and following rules. Had a hard time seeing the people for the rules. Nice to see he turned a corner on his stance on mages.”

Dorian flicked a glance toward the front of the army, though he had no hope of picking Cullen out of the mass of bodies. “How so?”

“Well, you are his betrothed, right? There was a time he didn’t think mages were people,” she trailed off. “Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that. I’m drunk right now, uh, still drunk from last night. I can’t ever remember things when I’ve been drinking. Oh, look, I think Varric is calling me. For things.” She rode off without a backward glance and Dorian felt like he’d been punched. 

All of the careful conversations from his friends, even from Cullen’s family made so much more sense. He stewed through the rest of the day’s march and when they settled down to camp for the night, Dorian made his first trek across the massive array of tents to find Cullen. 

He had the same sad little bedroll they all had, but some poor bastard had to drag a table and chair halfway across Thedas so Cullen could continue to do paperwork. He was at the desk when Dorian pushed back the flap. That he looked relieved to see Dorian did nothing to stem his anger.

“Tell me, Commander. When we were married, did you intend to treat me like one of your circle mages?”

Cullen stood, his smile dropping to a confused frown. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I had a very interesting conversation with the Champion today. In fact, I’ve had a series of interesting conversations. Was it perhaps your intention all along to turn me into a will-less Tranquil, and a cover for your lyrium addition?” He swallowed against the bile in his throat at the thought of losing all that he was. When it seemed that Cullen wanted to argue, Dorian pointed a finger at him. “Mages aren’t people,” he snarled.

“Oh, Maker.”

It was true, then. He felt sick and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I see.”

“No, wait. Please, wait. I’m sorry I was short with you in my office. I sent you notes,” he trailed off.

“I burned them. With my magic.” He increased the flames in the tent as well, just because he could.

Cullen flinched in the most gratifying way. “Stop being so childish.”

“Childish?” He was tempted to catch the whole tent on fire. “You think I’m being childish? I’m intended to a man who thinks I’m not a person because of an ability I was born with.” He could have laughed had he not been so sick with it. “I can’t do this. I can’t live this life. I tried to curb my magic around you, but it doesn’t matter. Even if you can’t see it, you still know it’s there.” He paced from one end of the tent to the other. “I’m very sorry to leave you to the tender mercies of the Inquisitor, but I’m sure he’ll pick out someone who is at least your equal.”

Cullen moved to intercept his track. He didn’t catch hold of Dorian or try to restrain him, but he met his eyes and pleaded. “I don’t think that way. Not anymore. After Kinloch, I went right back to work. I should have taken some time, but I was desperate to keep busy. I thought if I was busy I wouldn’t think about it all the time.”

Kinloch. Mia had referenced it as well. “I don’t know what that is.”

Cullen’s jaw dropped and he stepped back. “You don’t know about Kinloch?” He ran his hand through his hair and stumbled across the tent to collapse in his chair. “Of course, you don’t. It’s infamous in the southern Circles. There was, it was.” He gasped in a breath and started again. “Uldred wanted to overthrow the Templars. He was possessed, became an abomination and summoned and army that decimated the Circle. Those Templars who didn’t die in the initial battle were captured. He tortured the survivors, killed them until there was just one left.” He closed his eyes in a slow blink that then sprang open. “I still hear their screams. How do you come back from that?”

Dorian didn’t know if he should close the distance between them or if Cullen needed the space. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s not. I was afraid and that’s no way to keep people safe. Meredith fed on it, pushed me to dig deeper. I said those things, I _believed_ those things. I don’t believe them now, but that doesn’t change who I was or what I did.” He tugged at his hair, disrupting the flat, ordered coif into dense curls. “I thought the Inquisition was my chance to start new, repair some of the damage I’ve done. But how many times can I start again before I understand it’s not circumstances, it’s me?” He looked to Dorian. “Maybe you _should_ leave. You should get as far away from me as possible.”

This was not the fight that Dorian expected when he stormed the tent. It was hard to maintain his anger in the face of Cullen’s confession. It was why he preferred to avoid confessions in the first place. “You are exhausting.” There was nowhere else to sit, so he tidied a stack of Cullen’s papers and then slid up onto the desk. Not as sturdy as the one in his office, it held his weight with little trouble. “If it’s not a gruesome work ethic, it’s lyrium withdrawals, or a terrible personal history. If I left, no Orlesian would have you.”

He struck his thigh with his fist. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But I don’t know how else to approach this.” Sometimes, it felt all right, this binding of their lives. For an hour or a day it seemed like it might work, and then something would happen to spin it wildly out of his control. He felt boxed in, trapped, and only every once in a while was there a breath of air to make it bearable. 

Cullen leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “How about you take it seriously?”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” When they weren’t arguing with each other, it almost felt good, between them. “We play chess and we take meals together, but when you need help, you push me away.” 

Cullen straightened up from his slouch and frowned at Dorian. “What do you mean, you don’t know what we’re doing?”

“Well, obviously, we’re to be married, but I don’t know what you want.” They hadn’t talked. Not really. Not about anything that mattered. Other than agreeing to put on a show until the wedding, they hadn’t discussed any of the particulars. For Dorian’s part, it was because he hoped either that Trevelyan would change his mind, they would win against Corypheus, or he would find the strength to leave on his own. Most of the time he didn’t believe that there was going to be a marriage.

The silence between them stretched as Cullen drew a slow breath. He reached out and took Dorian’s hand between his own. They were large and calloused, but warm. “How can you not know? I’ve been courting you.”

Dorian burst out laughing and then stopped abruptly when Cullen looked hurt and tried to pull away. “You’re serious.”

“I took you to meet my parents.” He wouldn’t meet Dorian’s gaze and his voice was a soft shadow of its normal timber.

He kept Cullen’s hands caught in his own. “Is that a typical Ferelden custom?”

“I don’t actually know. It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Have you never courted anyone before?”

This time Cullen did succeed in pulling his hands away. He stood and walked to the other side of the tent. “Oh, and I suppose you have.”

“Of course. It was expected.” Never anyone he cared for, never anyone he wanted or who wanted him. Livia had been his intellectual match, but they would have been terrible together. She had grand ambitions that would have been stymied as his wife and he could have never lived up to her expectations. “I do hope we won’t be using Tevinter customs in this instance. I have no need for jewelry as I slog through Ferelden marshes and I believe the south frowns upon slaves.” At Cullen’s confused look, he waved a hand. “They’re traditional courting gifts.” 

He covered his face with his hand. “I hadn’t thought of gifts.”

Dorian resisted the urge to cross the tent to Cullen’s side. “It’s not as if they’re readily available in Skyhold.”

“I sent you a letter.”

“Cullen. You sent me a field report.” He slid off the desk and approached Cullen, slow and steady. “And when I returned from glorious battle chasing down spirits and darkspawn, you weren’t there to greet me at the gates.”

Cullen’s eyes widened at Dorian’s approach, and he moved to step back, but there was nowhere to go. “I wasn’t feeling myself.”

Dorian hummed and dropped his eyes to Cullen’s mouth, drawn to the scar across his lip. “And when I came to see you, you shouted at me. You can see how a man might get the wrong idea.”

Cullen raised his hand, probably to rub at the back of his neck, but let it fall to catch at Dorian’s sleeve and reel him in the last few steps until there is only a wisp of air between them. “I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said. I prefer a man of action.”

Cullen’s chest heaved in breaths, his nostrils flared as Dorian leaned closer. He locked eyes with Dorian, leaned in. 

And then the tent flap snapped open and a scout ran in. “Message for you, ser,” she said before she caught sight of the two of them. “Pardon.” She dropped the missive on Cullen’s desk. “From the Inquisitor, ser.” She ducked her head and then ran from the tent.

The moment broken, Dorian stepped back and ran his hand over his mouth, pleased that it wasn’t shaking. “I should leave you to your work, Commander.”

“Dorian, I,” Cullen stopped and looked away, his face flushed, but the set of his shoulders straight and determined. “I shall endeavor to do better.”

*

Though Dorian tried to see Cullen again before they reached the fortress, they never seemed to be in the same place at the same time unless it was in a meeting with the rest of the inner circle to discuss tactics. Dorian couldn’t in good conscience distract Cullen from his duties there, not when the lives of so many depended on him. He thought about seeking him out once camp was made in the evenings, even went so far as to start the journey on occasion, but he always stopped himself. 

Every time he looked at Hawke, he was reminded of her words about Cullen. Words Cullen himself refused to deny. People could change. They could change their minds and their actions. Halward Pavus was living proof that what a person believed wasn’t immutable. But could he trust that Cullen had moved on from a world in which he feared mages and magic and thought they needed to be tamed and controlled like animals into a place where he could share a life with one. 

So, Dorian never closed the distance to Cullen’s tent. He made rounds through the camp and ended up back at his own space where he distracted himself with a book until he was too tired to read another word. 

On the eve of their siege, Cullen sought him out.

It was late but he was wide awake. He’d cast his book aside hours ago, the fine print and difficult translation not challenging enough to keep him occupied. Had the tent been bigger, he would have paced. Instead he sat and spun brightly colored lights through the air in intricate patterns. Cullen gasped as he lifted the flat, one hand stretched out to touch.

“Is it hot?”

Dorian shook his head and settled a blue light in Cullen’s palm. “Best not to play with fire inside something so flammable.” He let the other lights fall away and concentrated on the one in Cullen’s reach. Left to their own devices, the lights would sputter and fade once touched, but Dorian kept it glowing and bright as Cullen ran a finger over the surface, sending out bits of blue in sharp little waves. 

“It’s beautiful.”

Dorian shrugged and let the light fade. “My mother taught me to keep me from burning down the house. They were quite proud that I manifested my magic so early, less proud when they had to renovate the east wing after an incident.”

“Is fire your mother’s specialty?”

“Mother? No. Aquinea is one of the finest healers in all of Tevinter. Or she would be, if she bothered to work with actual people. Her work is more theoretical—less chance of having to deal with an icky person that way.” He brushed his hands against the knees of his trousers. “I think I was the only person she every practiced on. I never had a sniffle or a sore spot for more than a moment once she found out. It was quite the rude awakening the first time I left home.” He’d gotten into a fight with an older boy at the Carastes Circle and ended up with a burn along his back and side. The Senior Enchanter decided to let the wound stay as punishment and Dorian thought he would die from the hurt of it.

Cullen, nodded, looking for all the world as if he would stand awkwardly in the door through the night if Dorian didn’t invite him further. He motioned Cullen in and swept his hand to indicate the floor of the tent. “Apologies for the lack of comfort.”

“No, of course not. This is fine.” He settled across from Dorian, his legs crossed, their knees almost touching. “We go into battle tomorrow and I wanted you to have something.” He produced a small pouch of soft leather and handed it over.

It was light, though Dorian could feel something within. He tipped it into his palm and found a slim, silver band. It felt delicate in his fingers. Cullen looked ready to flee when Dorian turned his attention to him. “Thank you.” Perhaps another Ferelden custom? Perhaps he could get someone to write him a list so he wasn’t always caught so unawares.

“I know it’s not beautiful,” he gestured to the myriad of rinds already adorning Dorian’s hands. “But I wanted you to have something of mine. It’s from an embellishment on the hilt of my sword. I had one of the armorers help me remove it and melt it down to fashion it.”

Dorian turned it over in his fingers. “You made this.” No one had made him anything before. Bought him things, of course. What was the point of wealth if not to spend it lavishly and publicly? But no one had given him anything they’d made with their hands. He could see it now, the small imperfections, the indentations not quite buffed out. “You made this for me.”

“You don’t have to wear it. I, they gave me this sword when I became a Templar.” He twisted his hands together and looked away. “I did terrible things with it at my side, and some good as well. I don’t know that I can ever balance it out, but this is part of who I am and I hope that in the same way that I could change part of the sword, you might believe that I could change part of me.”

Dorian slid the ring onto the first finger of his right hand, an easy, comfortable fit. It looked plain next to his other rings, but that made it all the more striking. He wanted to make light of it, to distance himself from the warm feeling spreading through his chest, but the hopeful, worried expression on Cullen’s face stopped him. “I love it.”

Cullen’s breath left him in a whoosh. “Good, good.” He nodded to himself and then made as if to rise. “I should let you get some rest. It will be an early start.”

“Wait.” Dorian pushed up to his knees and dug through his pack. He knew it was in there somewhere. At last he pulled free a scarf, blue like the light and of slick, sheer silk. He turned and tucked it against Cullen’s neck, fingers lingering just a touch on the warm, smooth skin, the skipping flutter of his pulse. “It won’t protect you from the cold, but perhaps it will help you remember to be careful.”

Cullen reached up to touch it, his hand slow and reverent. “I’ve never had something so nice. Thank you.” He swayed toward Dorian, and then stood, his face red. “Maker keep you,” he said and then he was gone.

The next morning as they packed up, he pointed to Dorian’s hand. “That’s new.” Of course Bull would notice.

“Hmmm?” Dorian looked down to where he was absently spinning Cullen’s ring. “Yes, well. Hands as beautiful as these cannot remain unadorned.” It weighed differently on his finger than his other rings, broader and flat, it was just a bit intrusive. He kept his staff in his hand as they rode out instead of across his back to help him adjust to the weight. 

By the time they breached the walls, it was mostly a forgotten change as he focused on his fire, and barriers and raising fallen Wardens to fight for them. They were holding their own, making progress, so of course, there was a dragon. 

“Hey, Dorian!” Bull shouted during the fighting. He was bleeding from one shoulder and grinning like it was his best day. “If I kill that dragon, do you think you could raise it up to fight for us?”

He almost stopped in the midst of battle to consider it. He’d raised people before, groups of them all at once, but never something so big. It made him wonder if it was even possible.

Bull roared out a laugh. “Now that’s an experiment I could get behind.”

Any response was cut off by another wave of demons and he was swept along with the Inquisitor as they tried to make their way to Clarel. He saw Cullen occasionally during the fighting, rallying troops, directing his men, fighting. But they were never close and there was never time to check in. They were both still up and moving and that was enough.

And then everything moved so fast. There was a confrontation and the dragon came down. Cullen showed up with a troop of men to help. More fighting. More shouting. The building collapsing and his last sight was of Cullen, on his knees with a sword through the chest plate of his armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Dorian, maybe instead of thinking about how you should talk to someone, you should actually talk to them. Just a thought. <3 me.


	5. Chapter 5

The Fade might have been interesting had it not been for the ball of worry lodged in Dorian’s throat, the taunting voice mocking them, and the way Bull and Sera were about two seconds from losing their shit all the time. He should have been fascinated and storing all of his experiences for future study, but all he wanted was to get out. Cullen was stabbed, possibly dying and they strolled through the fade listening to a tedious diatribe.

Dorian had been tempted by demons, he’d fought them and talked with them, he’d had tea with them. But he’d never been mocked by one before. And he’d never been shown a fucking tombstone with his greatest fear spelled out for everyone to read. Rude, really. He’d have thought the Fade would have better manners. Or at least more monsters and less digs at his feelings.

And Varric, because he was physically incapable of poking at things, decided they should talk about it. “Temptation doesn’t seem like the kind of thing to be afraid of.”

Dorian, because he wasn’t an asshole, didn’t say anything about Varric’s parents. “Ah, yes, but what is temptation in the hands of a mage? What could I want so badly that I would throw away my most basic principles? Everyone succumbs.” He tried not to think of Halward, calm and collected, as he explained the ritual was for the best. Or Alexius who twisted their work in his grief and the terrible lyrium-statued future Felix. Or Cullen and the look of surprise on his face, the wound so new Dorian hadn’t seen any blood. What would he give to see Cullen safe?

“Not everyone, though. You’re not a walking abomination. Neither is Vivienne or hell, a dozen other mages I know.”

“It doesn’t always end in abominations, but we always cross the line. Oh, we might call it research, or innovation, but it’s always because we couldn’t resist the power of doing more.” He stumbled as Bull pushed at his arm. 

“That’s not really helping, big guy.”

Dorian shrugged. It was the truth. But he was saved from having the conversation by another fight, and then another and another. When they confronted Nightmare, Dorian didn’t know how they were supposed to defeat such an enemy. With its endless minions and its giant form, it seemed an impossible task. As soon as they cleared a round of lesser creatures another group appeared. Most everyone was injured. Hawke had taken a blow to her shoulder that left her hand dangling. Stroud’s leg was bleeding badly. Dorian had been careless between barrier and had an arrow through is side that burned with each breath. It seemed impossible and he’d been part of the party that fought a dragon.

Somehow they managed to win through only to find their way blocked again. Dorian could have wept. Potions were long spend and the party was exhausted. They would not make it through another battle without losses. 

Which was when Trevelyan made his call. He surveyed their party, took in the damage. “Hawke, Stroud, Dorian.” There was no hesitation in his voice, no remorse in his eyes. “Hold the line until we get through.”

“Boss,” Bull was bleeding, but still standing, still going strong.

“Now isn’t the time to argue,” Trevelyan, he pointed his sword at Bull. “Do you want all of us to get stuck in here?”

Bull helped Dorian stand. “I’ll stay.”

Dorian shook his head and pushed him away. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life in this place. Green is not your color.” He nodded at Bull’s atrocious pants. “Despite your constant attempts.” When he could stand on his own, Dorian reached out to grip Bull’s arm and squeezed.

“It’s not right.”

The burn of the wound dogged every breath, but he didn’t need to physically fight the demon. His magic was more than enough. He grinned at Bull, tried to make him believe that it was okay, that it didn’t burn right through him—being left behind. “I’ve got this. You need to look after your boys.”

“Might have to consider a change after all this.” Bull wrapped his arm around Dorian’s neck and drew him in to a tight hug. “You don’t have to do this,” he said in a low tone for Dorian’s ears alone.

Dorain pushed him away. “No. It’s all right.” From the day he’d left Tevinter he’d been on borrowed time. Much like Felix, but with a more open end date. It was frankly stunning he’d lasted as long as he did. His only regret was that he didn’t know Cullen’s fate. He hoped he still lived. And he hoped that Cullen would find a better path for himself. 

Across from him, Hawke readjusted the grip on her sword. “If you’re going, now’s the time.” She was grim and beautiful and he wished that Trevelyan was half the leader she was. 

Trevelyan nodded and led the charge to the exit. Dorian watched as, one by one, they disappeared leaving the three of them to stand against the giant spider. He’d had more than his share of oversized spiders. Why did nothing large ever come in the form of something cute or cuddly? He cast a barrier over the three of them. “How do you want to take this?”

Stroud straightened. “I was made for this. I hear the call, it is my time, but it’s not yet yours.” He pointed to the portal, flickering, but still open. “Go.”

“The Inquisitor—“

“Does not bind me. I answer only to the call of the Blight.”

“Stroud,” Hawke pleaded, but instead of an answer, Stroud turned, his sword held high and charged at the spider. The spider demon screamed its anger.

Perhaps it was cowardice. He didn’t want to be trapped in the Fade. Some of it was anger that Trevelyan thought so little of their lives that he used them so freely. He grabbed Hawke around the waist and dragged her toward the portal. His side burned from the arrow, poison maybe, and he could feel slick blood soaking into his clothes. Hawke was heavier than he was expecting and she resisted his pull.

Stroud shouted something, a war cry, and Dorian turned in time to see him launch himself at the spider, his sword sinking into the thing’s face. It screamed and they both fell into a heap. 

“Let’s go.” He tugged at Hawke and that time she didn’t resist. They fell through the exit and Dorian landed hard. Unforgiving stone beneath him, Hawke tumbling onto him from above the air whooshed from his lungs and he could only stare up at the sky. It was so bright and blue and free of the Fade it hurt his eyes. With a crack, the exit closed and Stroud stayed on the other side.

The bright light was blocked by Trevelyan’s looming shadow, his face twisted in anger. “I told you to hold the line.”

Hawke shoved to her feet which was good because Dorian couldn’t seem to get his hands under him to even sit. He watched as Hawke stalked to Trevelyan. “Stroud killed the demon, the line was held. Sorry to disappoint you, Inquisitor, but Dorian and I are very much alive.”

The burning sensation from his wound was spreading and each breath felt like he was taking on water, despite the dry land. “I don’t know about that,” he said, his voice weak in his own ears. The brightness of the sky was fading, darkening around the edges. How typical. To escape one fate only to be brought low by another. He looked around the field, hoping to catch sight of Cullen, but there was only Vivienne, swooping into his vision. 

She placed a hand on his cheek, surprisingly cool and soft. “Relax, dear. I have this.”

*

The room was dark and quiet when he woke. He had the lingering sensation that something had been wrong with him, a tenderness in his side and a delicate feeling in his bones, but his breathing was easy, his eyes clear and when he sat up, it was with ease. Dorian didn’t recognize the room, small and bare, but his staff was propped up in one corner and there were clothes folded on a chair by the bed.

Without windows, he couldn’t tell the hour, but he was dreadfully thirsty and it seemed the right thing to explore a little. After he pulled on his clothes, he opened the door to bright sunlight and a cool breeze. After his eyes adjusted, he found a solider waiting for him. The image of Cullen, on his knees, flashed through Dorian’s mind and he gasped. “Cullen?”

“I’m on orders of the Inquisitor, Ser. I’m to take you to him when you wake.” He gestured down the hall for Dorian to follow.

“Do you have word of the Commander?” He trailed on hand along the wall to keep his balance. Though healed, he felt weak, and the worry over Cullen didn’t help.

The guard shook his head. “I’ve no word of the Commander, Ser. Only the Inquisitor.”

“Where are we?” The walkway is open and broad, he saw a small garden down below and a handful of Inquisition soldiers and agents moving across the courtyard. Not a single friendly face though.

The guard cleared his throat, and Dorian couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at having to answer questions or if he was under orders not to speak. “Not far from Adamant. This holding belongs to Madam de Fer.”

Dorian made a closer inspection and found it hard to believe. It seemed too quiet, utilitarian, and functional to be something belonging to Vivienne. “How long have we been here?”

“I’m sure the Inquisitor can answer your questions, Ser.”

A swell of unease rose through him as they walked through the holding. Though they passed only a handful of people, none of them would meet Dorian’s gaze and by the time they reached a closed door, Dorian wondered if he’d been better off pretending to sleep. The soldier pushed the door open and ushered him inside, and then closed it firmly behind him.

“Dorian.” Trevelyan was seated at a desk near a window. Stacks of papers were abandoned at his elbow as he looked at the flowering garden below. 

Uncertain about his fate, Dorian erred on the side of caution. “Inquisitor.”

“You’re looking better.” He sounded pleasant enough but he didn’t look at Dorian when he spoke and there was an undercurrent of tension in his shoulders.

“Yes.” He wanted to ask about Cullen. All he wanted was to know about Cullen, but he was sure that to ask would be the wrong move. He stilled himself and waited for Trevelyan to speak. 

After a moment of silence, Trevelyan drew a breath and stood from his desk. He was a tall man, a few inches taller than Dorian and when he chose to, he loomed over others with a demanding sense of power and authority. “I don’t appreciate my subordinates countermanding my orders.”

Dorian held very still, the way he would when faced with a venomous snake, ready to strike. “Inquisitor?”

“I asked you and Hawke and Stroud to stay behind to make sure the demon was contained. Hawke can only give me vague assurances that Stroud took it down before you left your post.”

He didn’t lean away as Trevelyan pressed closer, instead centering himself to recall the moment in the Fade. “You asked us to hold the line. You and the others were through, Stroud had the demon on the ground and the exit was collapsing. There was no danger of the demon crossing through.” He was certain of that, if nothing else. “Are you,” he stopped and shook his head, meeting Trevelyan’s gaze and then darting away. There were some things he was better off not knowing the answer to.

Closer, he ducked in until he caught Dorian’s gaze. “Speak.”

“Are you displeased we survived?” Damn him for the catch in his voice, for caring what Trevelyan thought. 

The danger bled out of Trevelyan and he draped an arm over Dorian’s shoulder in a shadow of the camaraderie they first shared. “Oh, Dorian. Of course I’m pleased you’re still with me. Never doubt that. The decisions I make have no bearing on how I feel for you personally. Were we not faced with the end of the world, I would keep you as far from all of this as I could. Each of you is precious. But we _are_ facing the end of the world and I cannot let the Inquisition fail.” He stepped away, toward the window and was bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. He turned, his face hard and distant once again. “But you are correct. I will endeavor to state my orders with clarity and precision in the future.”

Dorian nodded in agreement and then floundered, not sure if he was dismissed or if Trevelyan was waiting for something further from him.

“Was there something else,” Trevelyan sat at his table, back to the door and Dorian.

Though Trevelyan’s momentary regard had faded, Dorian felt he was out of immediate danger enough to ask. “Do you have word of Commander Cullen?”

“Cullen? Did no one tell you?” He spun, his face serious. “He died. The wound was fatal.”

Dorian flung out a hand to catch himself as his legs went weak. The ring on his right hand burned with weight of his loss and he thought for a moment he might pass out. 

Only to have Trevelyan burst into laughter. He smacked his knee and waved at Dorian. “Forgive me, my friend. A cruel trick, but your face is a picture. The good Commander is well enough. He has quarters on the other side of the holding.”

He still felt like he might be sick, the relief at Trevelyan’s words spreading too slow against the initial panic. He wiped at his mouth and straightened. “The,” _guard_ “soldier will show me?” He hated the tremor in his words.

“Of course. You’re not a prisoner.”

Dorian gave a half bow to hide the twist of anger he couldn’t keep off his face. “Inquisitor.” He backed out of the room and nudged the soldier. “Show me to Cullen’s room.”

“This way, ser.”

He followed the solider in a daze. The holding was still quiet, but this time Dorian found solace in it. There was only one person he wanted to talk to and anyone else would bear the brunt of his anger. 

“Here we are.”

Dorian dismissed him and then charged into the room without knocking. Cullen was seated near a window, a mirror to Trevelyan’s room. He looked in surprise and then concern as Dorian crossed to his side and fell to his knees at Cullen’s feet. He grabbed Cullen around the waist and pressed his face into his ribs where the sound of his lungs and heart rang in Dorian’s ears.

“Dorian, what—“

“He told me you were dead. I thought you died and it was for a laugh.” Cullen was warm under his hands and arms, a delightful layer of fat over muscle that felt broad enough to shelter Dorian from anything. He squeezed harder when Cullen dropped his hands to Dorian’s head, stroking his hair and the nape of his neck.

“I’m well.” Cullen shifted in his seat and pulled back just a hair from Dorian’s grip. “Well enough, anyway.”

Beneath his fingers, Dorian could feel the bandages covering Cullen’s waist. He leaned back and tried to control the flush working its way up his neck. Such a display when they were, well. Whatever they were. He did know that the relief he felt at Cullen alive, breathing and whole under his hands was profound. “I saw you stabbed.”

“And I saw you fall and yet, here we both are.” He stroked back Dorian’s hair and then seemed to catch himself. He cleared his throat. “It looked worse from where you were, I’d imagine. The sword caught a weak point in my armor at the side. A deep slice and very painful, but not deadly.” He twisted his fingers together. “Hawke said that the Inquisitor intended to leave you in the Fade, but I haven’t been able to speak to him about it.” 

Dorian realized he was still on his knees at Cullen’s feet. He levered himself up and then took the only other seat in the room, the edge of Cullen’s bed. It was neatly made, but Dorian was still distracted by the thought of him nestled under the blankets. “The enemy we faced was dangerous.”

“It’s true, then.” The color drained from his face and he pressed his hand over his eyes.

“We were wounded already.” He could understand the reasoning behind it, but it was difficult to reconcile the man who called him a friend and was so vocal in his worry for Dorian’s happiness with the man who would leave him to die in the Fade. 

Cullen smacked his thigh with his fist. “All the more reason to bring you back. The loss of three wounded soldiers instead of a single, strong warrior makes no sense.”

“Unless the Inquisitor feels threatened. Hawke is an intimidating figure.” She was a bit reckless and prone to a dry comeback to almost everything, but she fought like a focused tornado and had an ease in battle that Trevelyan was still learning. She was used to being in control and command. Just as she was used to people following her because of their love rather than their loyalty.

“That she is.” There was a ghost of smile on his face that faded. “Still. It’s no excuse.”

“We made him the Inquisitor. That kind of power, come into play so quickly, can be overwhelming.” He’d certainly seen it enough in Tevinter. A newly raised Magister come into all of the power and prestige of the rank often left behind friends and allies. 

The time he spent with Rilienus was the one and only time Dorian allowed himself to believe that there was a real chance he could have the life he wanted in Tevinter. He’d love Rilienus, or thought he did. It was close enough to what he imagined love to be that there was little difference. When it was just the two of them Dorian spun elaborate futures where they were both powerful Magisters who bucked the old traditions and proved that it didn’t matter who they chose to love. 

Rilienus was a few years older; he was sharp and strong and beautiful, passionate and driven. When their bodies could no longer keep up with them, when they where twined together in the early hours of the morning, they could talk for hours still about theory and politics. Rilienus’ insight into the Magisterium was profound, he certainly understood the reality of their situation far better than Dorian ever did. 

When his mother died, he was raised to her seat and then stopped returning Dorian’s messages. He was conveniently absent when Dorian came calling. When they crossed paths in public, it was as if they were strangers for how Rilienus treated him, cool and distant. Dorian was still unsure what was happening and didn’t cause a scene. It was one of his true regrets about leaving Tevinter that he never shouted down his hurt in the middle of the market square. Oh, what a scandal that would have been. 

Instead, Dorian had cornered him at Magister Rinali’s winter gala. He pulled Rilienus into a side room and demanded an explanation. The pity on his face, the condescending tone, just the memory of how his handsome face twisted into something so cold, was enough to turn Dorian’s stomach years and years later. Rilienus told him he was foolish to imagine it was anything more than a diversion and in the same breath announced his impending nuptials. 

It had been on the tip of Dorian’s tongue to ask if he’d ever meant anything to Rilienus, but he didn’t want to hear the answer. Better to be left with a shred of dignity. He’d left the gala and spent the next six weeks drunk and lost in the brothels. That was where Alexius found him and put him to work. Not a terrible ending, all things considered.

“Hey. Where did you go?”

Dorian looked up to see that Cullen had crossed the room and was standing before him. He leaned a bit instead of his usually perfect posture and had his hand pressed to his side. “You foolish man, why are you standing?” He leapt up and pushed Cullen into his vacated space. 

“A walk across the room is hardly taxing.” But he let Dorian settle him on the bed and then smiled when Dorian took a seat next to him. “How are you? Madam de Fer said only that you needed rest.”

Any pain that lingered was a memory. “Don’t fuss.” All along the length of Dorian’s leg and arm, he could feel the heat of Cullen’s body. 

“You never answered my question.” Cullen reached out and ran a finger over the ring on Dorain’s hand, his ring. It had survived well through his trip in the Fade, far better than his favorite thumb ring that had been dented and crushed beyond repair. 

Dorian shook his head at the old memories. There had been a time he burned with the loss of Rilienus, but that was long behind him and more difficult with a handsome man at his side. “It doesn’t matter. A thought from an age ago. As for Trevelyan, he is overcome with his power, he feels the weight of duty to the exclusion of the people around him.”

“Perhaps.” Cullen paused and bit at his lip. “Perhaps in time he will come to be closer to the man he was?” But he didn’t sound certain and it was a dim hope. “I swore after Kirkwall that I would not follow blindly. I would not let someone feed on my fears.” He drew a breath and turned away from Dorian, letting his hand drop. “I’m afraid I have done just that.” He laughed, but it was bitter. “When will I stop promising to do better only to fail?”

Dorian took his hand and squeezed until Cullen looked at him. “We’re not done yet. Some, when they come to power, need to fall into excess before they work their way out. There is hope.” Slim, but he couldn’t look of the anguish on Cullen’s face and not respond. He reached up to trace the line between his furrowed brows. “We will watch and be vigilant and minimize the damage as we can. There is Corypheus to consider and the breach. Trevelyan is the only one who can deal with that.” Though his words were serious, he continued to ghost his fingers over the strong lines of Cullen’s stubbled jaw.

The air between them was thick. Cullen swayed toward him, leaning into Dorian’s touch. He met Dorian’s gaze and instead of closing the distance between them, drew a great gasping breath and leaned back. “Mia said you’ve written. That’s kind.”

He wanted to follow Cullen back, press their mouths together. The man was tantalizingly chaste. “She’s a good woman and deserves better than a recitation of the day’s meals. Or whatever terribly boring detail of your life you’ve chosen to share.”

Cullen laughed, even as he frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of one of your letters, Commander. I keep it for when I have trouble sleeping.”

“Oh?” Cullen flushed a dull red but arched an eyebrow. “You take my letter to your bed.”

Oh, but he was charming when he blushed. Cullen must have felt the rush of heat, he must have known it was so visible to others, but he only turned it to his advantage. It made him look sweet and younger than his years. It made Dorian want to eat him alive. “Obviously, it’s not the kind of letter I’d _prefer_ to take to my bed.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “And what kind of letter would you want?”

It was an effort not to lean in and kiss him. “More flattery, for a start. I am an incredibly handsome man, after all. Then something about my effect on you. And ending with more flattery.”

As he spoke, Cullen studied Dorian’s mouth. When Dorian finished, Cullen jerked his eyes up to Dorian’s. “I’ll see what I can do to appease your literary tastes.” He stood and walked back to his desk, hand pressed to his side and steps slower than usual. “I forgot. Mia sent one for you, as well, but it came to me.” He handed the letter over and remained standing. It seemed like Cullen was dismissing him, but he said nothing as he stood and ran his eyes over Dorian.

“Shall I leave you to your work, Commander?” he asked as the silence lingered.

“I’m afraid I have many reports to compile now that the battle is over.” It wasn’t a dismissal, but he continued to stand before Dorian.

“I could,” he paused. “Stay and help?”

Cullen slumped forward in relief. “Oh, Maker, could you? What I mean is, you don’t have to help. I’ve been in this room by myself for days and I’m going stir crazy. Just having you here while I work would be a boon.”

“Of course.” He slid up Cullen’s bed to relax against the headboard, making a production of his movements and getting comfortable. Though Cullen’s back was to him, he could still see the flush in the red tips of Cullen’s ears. 

He read through Mia’s letter and penned his response and started reading Cullen’s finished reports. As it grew late, Cullen had one of his soldiers bring them food that they ate cross-legged on Cullen’s bed like children. They talked over the information from the reports and Cullen’s impression of his soldier’s performance. He was pleased and also filled with the desire to return to Skyhold and begin new training to shore up their weaknesses. 

Dorian felt safe in Cullen’s room and dreaded the walk back to his own. He had no desire to pass so closely to Trevelyan so soon after their words. His laughter still stung Dorian, the bright enjoyment of Dorian’s suffering was too much to think of. Still, he was tired and if he lingered, he would put Cullen out of his bed. 

Cullen walked him to the door and asked if he needed an escort back to his room.

“I think I can find my way, thank you.” It was a kind gesture, though. 

Before he could cross the threshold, Cullen held up a finger and grabbed a sheaf of paper from his desk. He folded it neatly and then tucked it under the belt at Dorian’s breast. “For your late night reading.” His hands held the faintest tremor as he touched Dorian and the blush was back. 

“How thoughtful.” He ran his thumb along the edge of the letter. “Shall I seek you out tomorrow?”

“I, yes. That would be, yes.”

Dorian tapped the letter. “Until tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. I had half of this written early last week and then we had family emergencies and I'm starting to come down with the cold my wife is finishing. I think this one turned out okay, but it's hard to tell with a head cold.


	6. Chapter 6

Dorian let himself back into his room, relieved to see the soldier was no longer standing guard. He’d considered trying to find Vivienne, to thank her for her healing and her hospitality, but he was flagging and desperately curious about the contents of Cullen’s letter. He must have penned it while Dorian was in the room. Hidden talent, that one.

He lit the fire with a careless wave of his hand and then stripped down for bed. The hour was late enough, and the lingering weariness in his body meant that when he slipped beneath the blankets, there wasn’t a single guilty thought in his body. He propped himself up, stretched out and began to read.

_Dorian,_

_You have no idea how distracting you are. I should be working, but it’s all I can do to keep myself seated at my desk while you’re sprawled out over my bed. I wish I had the courage to rise from this chair and join you. You’d welcome me, at least, I think you would. You’d let me touch the soft skin of your arms, your strong, lithe fingers. I long to feel the brush of your mustache against my face._

_Do you come to a bed quietly, I wonder? Is it the work of your lover to pull sounds from you or do you give them freely? I confess I keep myself awake at night wondering how my name would sound, breathless, on your lips._

_Is your hair as soft as it looks? I want to run my hands through it, catch in the long strands and up into the short hairs behind your ears. I catch the scent of it, on occasion, as you pass too close in a crowded room, or when you lean across the chess table and I want to bury my face there and breathe you in._

_Any moment you allow me to spend with you is a gift. I hope you reward me with many more in the coming days._

_Yours,_  
_Cullen_

Well. Dorian pulled in a deep breath and read the letter again, this time imagining Cullen sitting at his desk, squirming in his chair. What would he have done if Cullen had joined him on the bed? Not returned to his own room so soon, he imagined. Weak and wounded though they were, Dorian thought they could have managed well enough. 

He ran his hand over his chest, stopping to twist his nipples to peaks before moving down. It was never as satisfying to touch his chest and abdomen as when a partner touched him. The image of Cullen though, flushed, following the path with his own hands was enough to send sparks along his skin.

Would he be as hesitant in his touch as he was in his speech? Dorian thought not. The man was commander of the Inquisition army. He led soldiers to battle; surely his touch would be firm and knowing. His calloused hands running the length of Dorian’s body. Over his ribs, along the well at his hip. As sure in this as he was in command.

Dorian ran his hand lower, to cup his balls, roll the weight of them, heavy with need. Were Cullen in the room, Dorian would have been slow, teasing. He would have put on a show to leave them both hungry and breathless. Alone, save for a letter, Dorian had no patience. He smoothed his hand up over the length of his cock, circling in a firm grip that would have him at his release in moments. 

On each upward stoke, he thumbed the sensitive head of his cock, imagining Cullen’s lips stretched wide around it, his face red from exertion, not embarrassment. Would he stifle his sounds after a lifetime of barracks and close quarters, would Dorian have to earn each whimper of pleasure?

His strokes grew faster, his hips rising up off the mattress to meet the rhythm. All the while Dorian was consumed with the image of Cullen, bare chested, pressed close, the two of them breathing in the same air as they strove toward the same goal. Cullen, solid and sweet beneath him, carrying the marks of their passion beneath his armor for days.

He came with a soft gasp, feeling not a little ridiculous stroking himself off over a letter like a teenager. But he was pleasantly tired and it was such a lovely letter that his embarrassment faded and sleep came with ease. 

*

Morning came too soon and too bright, though Dorian was well rested and loose limbed. Cullen’s letter was sitting on the table beside the bed. A single glance at it filled Dorian with warmth and the desire to put words into action. Still, it wouldn’t do to go running off to Cullen first thing. He had other matters to attend to, first.

He made his rounds through the holding. Sera hugged him when she saw him and then punched his arm hard enough to leave a bruise and called him an arse. Vivienne sat with him on a balcony overlooking a hedge maze as they shared wine and gossip. It was never too early for either, something for which he was eternally grateful Vivienne understood. Ferelden could be so reserved.

The Chargers looked in good form, though Bull was missing. He chatted with Krem for as long as they could stand each other. How he’d managed to cross a cultural divide to become friends with a Qunari and still struggle with one of his own countrymen was a mystery. Still. Krem was a good man and Bull was fond, so Dorian made the effort. Not so much with Skinner, though, she scared the piss out of him.

As the morning wore to afternoon, Dorian turned toward Cullen’s room. He answered the door and, at the sight of Dorian, flushed bright red. But he kept steady eye contact and let a hint of a smile play across his face. “Did you rest well?” he asked as he motioned Dorian in. His desk was set, yet again, with a stack of papers and reports. There was evidence that he’d been working through the morning—a stack of papers with his seal ready to send and a small map that had been clear the night before was marked and annotated. 

Dorian made himself at home on Cullen’s bed, stretched out as he had the day before. He let Cullen’s question linger for a moment, until he was certain that Cullen was watching him closely. “A touch restless, if I’m honest. I had some invigorating reading.” He laced his fingers together behind his head. “You have some well-hidden talents, Commander. Here I thought you were incapable of a personal letter.”

Cullen coughed and took his seat, though he stayed facing Dorian’s direction. “It, it was all right, then?”

“No need to be bashful. It was delicious.” He unhooked a hand and slid it down to jaw, then the length of his chest. Cullen watched the descent with interest. To keep his focus, Dorian ran a finger along the edge of a buckle near his waist. The hard swallow and bit lip he received in return was well worth the effort. “Quite stimulating.”

“And do you have a similar letter for me?” he stuttered through the question, but didn’t turn away. 

The air in the room was suddenly over warm and charged, as if Dorian had cast Chain Lightning in the small space. Beneath him, Cullen’s blankets were warm and soft and he imagined spending the rest of the day in bed. “Oh, I have something a little more hands-on in mind.” He cocked up his leg and grinned.

Cullen stood and then jumped at the knock on the door. He hesitated, wavering toward Dorian.

“Ignore it.”

Cullen took a step toward him and the knock came again. “Cullen?” It was Bull. 

Dorian let his head drop back. No use hiding. If Bull hadn’t heard them, he’d be able to smell them. His senses were unparalleled.

With a sigh, Cullen opened the door. “You needed something?”

Dorian could feel Bull taking in the room. “Sorry. The Inquisitor’s looking for you.”

Of course he was. Maxwell Trevelyan had developed the ability to ruin days from a distance, now. Dorian stood. If it was a war council meeting, it could last the rest of the day. 

Cullen looked between them, then sighed. “Right. Dorian, hold that thought. I’d like to return to it at some point today.”

He nodded. “It’ll keep.” He watched Cullen walk away. Stripped down to trousers and tunic afforded Dorian the unusual opportunity to appreciate his ass on the way out. Unusually the armor and the cape kept him well hidden. A shame, really.

“So.” Bull nudged him. “You eat yet?”

“I was going to,” he muttered. Cullen was the sort of man he could make a meal out of for hours.

Bull laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on.”

With his afternoon plans put on hold, there was nothing but to follow Bull down to Vivienne’s well stocked larder, load up enough food for the both of them and head out into the garden. The sun was bright and warm, and they picked a spot shaded by a tall maple. Butterflies flitted through the flowers and a host of song birds rustled through the leaves of the trees on the far side of the garden. It was sickeningly idyllic. 

“You’re looking well.” Last he remembered, Bull had been bleeding from a dozen wounds, though he had been upright, at least.

Bull shoved half a meat pie in his mouth and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “Better than you.” He lifted up his arm to expose a long scar along his ribs, still rough and new. “It’s going to be a beauty.”

“Yes, some of us don’t like to wear the evidence of our battles all over our skin.” He preferred his smooth. Though, there was something very tempting about the scar the bisected Cullen’s lip.

“Better outside than in.” He ate another pie. “You and Cullen seem to be getting on all right.”

Dorian picked at the fruit, sweet little apples and tart grapes. “We’ve come to an understanding, I think.”

“You two looked a little more comfy than just an understanding.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Talking meant thinking and he’d done his fill of thinking about Cullen. That was when he seemed to get himself in the most trouble. If he could just exist in the moment, consider the pleasure they could give each other and not think about the future, he would be happy. Talking with Bull meant he had to imagine that life and there was nothing there but disappointment.

Bull nodded. “You might not want to, but if you need to, I’m a good listener.”

“All those years of spy training, no doubt.” He didn’t love the idea that his personal life might end up in a report for some Qunari to read back in Par Vollen. “Do they know, back in your home, about my engagement?”

“It’s not like it’s a secret. You sent out invitations. But, my superiors don’t really care about that kind of thing. It’s in a file somewhere, but no one’s building up a dossier on Dorian Pavus’ impending nuptials.” Bull finished the last pie. “Besides, if we don’t talk about Cullen and his jawline, then we have to talk about Trevelyan and how he was going to leave you in the Fade.”

Appetite fled, Dorian pushed the remains of their lunch aside and stretched out in grass. His robes were his third best and already well-worn and stained, so he wasn’t particularly worried. He picked them that morning because they fit exquisitely and he wouldn’t have minded if he lost a belt or buckle to his encounter with Cullen. He had hoped to be picking them up off the floor, but given his current circumstances, laid out in the grass was fine. He preferred the view of the cloudless sky over Bull’s concerned face. “It wasn’t just me he was going to leave. Hawke and Stroud were there as well. It turned out all right, in the end.”

“Is ‘all right’ the phrase you were looking for? Is it a translation issue? Because you nearly died. I don’t know if Viv told you, but if she hadn’t been there, you’d be dead now instead of stretching yourself out like a cat on Cullen’s bed.” Bull leaned forward, but Dorian kept his eyes fixed firmly skyward. 

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it. I have no control over the Inquisitor’s actions. Clearly.”

Bull hummed and let the quiet fall between them. It was at tense silence and Dorian felt he was leading to something. He shifted; it was so unlike Bull not to speak his mind.

“Bull?”

He drew a breath and let it out with a light chuckle. “I don’t know, big guy. Seems like things aren’t the way I signed up for them to be and I don’t think I like it.”

There wasn’t much of an argument that Dorian could make. “Turns out saving the world is harder than it seemed.” He shared a smile. “What would you do though? I can’t imagine the Qun would appreciate you leaving behind your assignment.” He almost couldn’t believe they were discussing leaving in the middle of the garden. He looked around, but they were alone. Bull would have noticed an intruder long before Dorian. 

“That’s the tricky part. The information they get is what I give them, but I don’t know what I could tell them that would make them approve of my leaving. I’m worried and I want to get out before something happens to my boys. Regular pay isn’t worth it if they all end up dead.”

Dorian threw an arm over his face, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow. It had seemed so simple when they first met in Redcliffe. Trevelyan was confident, not commandeering. He seemed like he needed Dorian’s help as they worked their way to Alexius in the strange and terrible future. He went out of his way to help strangers because it was the right thing to do and because there was no one else helping. What happened to that man? “Why couldn’t he be more like Hawke?”

“Now there’s a statement I don’t hear often enough.”

Dorian jerked in surprise and sat up as Hawke sank down next to Bull. He glared at Bull. True, Hawke wasn’t a danger to them, but a little warning would have been nice. “Hawke.”

She leaned back against the tree and studied him. “You’re looking better than when I last saw you.”

“Madame de Fer is quite accomplished.”

She started picking short, white flowers and weaving them together in a chain. “I thought your boy was going to bust his guts wide open when he saw them carry you away.”

“My boy?”

Her fingers flew over the flowers and in moments, the chain was half the length of Hawke’s arm. All of the flowers immediately surrounding Hawke were gone, so Bull started picking the ones near him and handing them over. “Cullen? Tallish, a little beefy? Great ass?”

Dorian looked away. She wasn’t wrong. “Ah. He didn’t say.”

“Is this a Tevene thing? Like, repression and frowny faces? Because you’re bound to be married but you’ve very, forgive me for saying, stilted about this.” She hooked the ends of the chain together then knelt up to slide it down the length of Bull’s right horn. Immediately, she began to work on a second.

He liked Hawke, she was bright and blunt. But he was not so thrilled when she turned those attributes on him. “Repression is a time honored state in Tevinter.”

Bull huffed. “They’re bound to be a little weird about it. Trevelyan arranged the match.”

Hawke paused in her movements, and then resumed weaving. “He’s making you marry?”

“As you say. He has a fine physique. It’s not much of a hardship.”

“Dorian.”

He couldn’t look at her. “Don’t. There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“And if he hurts you?” She leaned forward. “I like Cullen, I do. But his view on mages—“

“Has shifted since you knew him.” What a fine day to find himself defending Cullen to the Champion of Kirkwall. “We’ve discussed this. He had no intention to collar me.”

She let the chain of flowers drop from her hands. “And that makes it all right? What you want doesn’t matter.”

It was an effort not to draw his legs up and wrap his arms around them. “The south is very concerned with what people want. The lines are much clearer in Tevinter.”

“Yeah. But isn’t that why you left, big guy?”

Dorian couldn’t argue. “It doesn’t matter. Marrying Cullen would not have been my choice, but I’d choose being banned from Ferelden less. I’m not ready to give up on the Inquisition, and this is how I can stay.”

She tilted her head back and for a moment, Dorian was reminded of the terrible years she had behind her in Kirkwall, years of building a life and love and friends only to have if come crashing down around her time and again. He didn’t think he’d have the strength to keep trying. “Maker, what a mess. Varric didn’t tell me about any of the shit that’s going on here.”

Bull picked up the flower chain and handed it back to Hawke. “Varric keeps hoping things will turn around.”

“And you? What do you think?”

Bull let out a slow breath. “I think it’s always good to have options,” he answered her but his gaze on Dorian.

“Well, I’ll stick around as long as I can, as long as Trevelyan lets me. He seems keen on getting rid of me.” She laughed at her own joke, as if the Inquisitor hadn’t already left her to die once and then gestured for Bull to lean down so she could drop the flower ring over his other horn. “There. Perfect.”

“Thanks.” He should have looked ridiculous, but Bull had no sense of shame. He held himself proud and strong and it worked for him. 

Hawke’s fingers twitched and she eyed Dorian, which he took as his cue to move on before he found himself similarly decorated. He stood and bowed to Hawke, waved to Bull, and wandered off to find a quiet way to pass the afternoon. Cullen would have to be freed from the war council at some point.

Unfortunately, Dorian didn’t see Cullen again until the following afternoon, and only then because all of the inner circle was called to a meeting. Trevelyan was in his formal armor again, looking stiff and unbending. Dorian tried to catch Cullen’s eye, but he was studying the map spread across the table and didn’t look up as the Inquisitor spoke. 

“I know you would all like the chance to rest after our work here, but Corypheus will not wait. Cullen will lead the forces back to Skyhold while I will make a side trip with The Iron Bull, Dorain and Sera. It seems the Qunari are interested in a broader alliance and their help will be invaluable in the coming days.”

Across from him, Bull didn’t move, didn’t even twitch. He must have known, but he hadn’t said anything about it the day before. What would it mean to see his people again after being apart for so long? And what would Trevelyan sacrifice to gain their alliance?

He lingered after Trevelyan closed the meeting, but Bull was pulled away by Krem. He supposed they’d have plenty of time to talk on the road. Harder with Trevelyan so close, but they would manage. Instead, he made his way to Cullen who was still bent over the map, as if he could move the army across Thedas with the will of his mind alone.

“Tell the truth, now. When you’re alone, you play with the figures.”

Cullen smiled, though it was strained. “I’ve been working on my impressions.” He sighed and straightened. “I’m sorry I won’t get to spend time with you before you leave.”

“Not even dinner?”

“The Inquisitor has us in meetings through the evening and well into the night. He wants to make sure we’re squared away before we leave.” He pressed a hand to his side, absently, and Dorian didn’t think he knew he was doing it. “We’ll all be back in Skyhold soon enough.” 

The room was clear, just the two of them before the map. Dorian stepped away to close the door for good measure. “Skyhold is too far.” He would not let Trevelyan dictate every facet of his life. He closed the distance between them and slid his hands up Cullen’s chest, settling one on his jaw and the other into the dense curls at the back of his neck. 

Cullen reached out and clutched at the fabric of Dorian’s robes, twisting at his hip and against Dorian’s shoulder blade. His eyes were huge and his breathing short. “Dorian,” he rasped.

“I will not wait.” They were close enough that Dorian could feel each of Cullen’s breaths, the warm heat of his thighs and the growing hardness pressed so close to his own. “You will not leave without a kiss.”

Cullen nodded and then closed the distance between them. For all his blushes and stammers, he was not bashful in his touch. His lips were firm, teasing against Dorian’s. When Dorian opened his mouth to the kiss Cullen took full advantage, sucking and stroking and biting. They were breathless and hard and Dorian was tempted to shove the map and all its little pieces to the ground when the door opened to a soldier.

“Pardon, Commander. I have a message from the Inquisitor.”

Dorian started to pull away, but Cullen kept him locked in place. “Get out.” It was his command tone, the one that brooked no argument and Dorian was not ashamed at the shiver it traced up his spine.

“I, the Inquisitor—“

“Wait outside.” The soldier tripped over himself to obey and Dorian leaned forward to rest his forehead against Cullen’s. “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone anything further until Skyhold.”

Dorian scratched his short nails through Cullen’s hair to his scalp. “I’ve had my taste.” He stepped back before he couldn’t. “Write to me.”

“At your command.”

*

“So, the Qun, huh?” Trevelyan was riding up ahead with Sera so Dorian let his mount fall back. He’d been waiting to talk with Bull for days. The Chargers were a little farther behind and well out of earshot. They had a moment of peace for the first time since leaving the army behind. 

Bull shrugged. “I’m just as surprised as you. They don’t normally do alliances.” He sounded unconcerned, but Dorian didn’t miss that he’d referred to his people as they, instead of we.

“You could have said something.”

“Didn’t know if the Inquisitor was going to want to do something about it. Told him about the offer before we left for Adamant. Thought maybe it got lost in the shuffle.” He leaned in. “Kind of hoped it had.”

Sera was waving her hands over her head to accompany some part of a story as Trevelyan laughed. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I think it’s something. We’ll be meeting my contact once we cross into Ferelden. He’s prickly about ‘Vints. Boss should have brought Viv or even Solas. It’s like he wants to pick a fight.”

“I can be diplomatic.” He’d spent his formative years keeping his mouth shut at the right time and learning when it was best not to start a fight. 

Bull reached over to tap his shoulder. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Without the army to slow them down, they made good progress through Orlais and over the Frostbacks. As they crossed into slightly warmer territory out of the mountains, Gatt joined them. He was overly familiar with Bull, indignant with the rest of him and outwardly hostile to Dorian. Not that Dorian could really blame him. Still, it was wearing. 

He came up on Gatt talking with Sera as they set camp one evening.

“I don’t know how you can share a tent with him. What if he tried something?”

Dorian wasn’t sure if he should have been pleased or offended that Sera laughed. “Fancy Britches? Try something? I’d put an arrow up his nose if he tried. ‘Sides, I’m not his type.”

“What elves? I never met a magister who wouldn’t use an elf.”

Dorian swallowed hard and then stepped in to stop the conversation. “No, archers. It’s the finger callouses.” He gave a delicate shudder. “So unseemly.”

Sera pitched a rock at his head. “I’ll show you unseemly.”

Gatt called him something in Qunlat and then walked away. While Dorian didn’t understand the words, but the tone was clear enough.

“You should take that show on the road,” Sera said to Dorian, though her focus was on Gatt crossing the camp to talk to Bull who was tending the fire.

“Hmmm?”

“Pissing people off. You don’t even try.”

He’d never had smooth edges. His peers seemed to have their abrasive spots worn down over time, but Dorian kept pushing. Just by being in the room, by being the fastest and the strongest, he drove them to anger and often, to disappointment. “I’m turning in.”

“What, no dinner?”

“I’ve had enough of grey stew and glares for a while.” He ducked into the tent before she could say more and shut out the sounds of the camp. Though he was tired of Gatt’s constant antagonism, he had another reason all together for wanting a little time alone. That afternoon, they stopped at an Inquisition camp to restock their supplies and check in. Trevelyan had several messages—the army would reach Skyhold around the same time their small group reached the Storm Coast—and there was a letter from Cullen for him amongst the missives.

All day it burned against his breast where it was tucked into his robes. His fingers itched to open it and read Cullen’s words, but he made himself wait. He let Bull tease him about Cullen and Trevelyan mock him for holding onto the letter. The Inquisitor even made a half-hearted attempt to take it to read aloud to everyone. But Dorian was swift, and he had magic on his side.

He was patient, and he thought Cullen would have been pleased. 

Alone, finally, Dorain undressed and crawled into his bedroll. It was a comfort to be stretched out, on solid ground. He preferred horseback to walking across half of Thedas, but it was still a hard travel and he was grateful for the rest. If only his younger self could see him, grateful to be sleeping on a bed roll on the ground. Young Dorian would have been horrified.

He pulled out Cullen’s letter, examining the folds and creases in the paper, Cullen’s seal in red wax. There was a touch of magic imprinted on the page, subtle and fine. Vivienne, then. Should anyone else have tried to open the seal, it would have caught fire and turned to ash before a single word could be read.

Dorian sat up, unsettled by the chill the magic ignited in him. Cullen’s crisp script greeted him, but instead of another attempt at seduction, his message was short and disconcerting.

_Dear Dorian,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I confess I hoped to be sending you a very different letter, but needs compel me to send this instead. The current task set by the Inquisitor causes me no end of worry. The Qunari do not form alliances. Even when they were stranded in Kirkwall for years, they never asked for help. Something about this meeting does not sit right. Please, take care. ~~It would~~ I could not bear for something to happen to you._

_Yours,_  
_Cullen_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a bit of a week at the end of a string of long and trying weeks. But the good news is that things seem to be settling down and I should be back to more regular updates in the future. As a fun side note, with ever chapter, I keep thinking I have about three chapters left to write. I will have an end to this story one day, but I'm not sure I can safely predict when that will happen.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me :)


	7. Chapter 7

Once they reached the Storm Coast, Trevelyan let Bull take lead on the mission and Dorian’s sense of unease grew. Trevelyan was never one to cede power, even in battle. Paired with Cullen’s warning, it felt like they were walking into a trap. Only Dorian couldn’t figure what kind of trap Trevelyan would want to set on his own people.

While the Chargers went off to cover the cliff side, the rest of them trudged up their own hill to take out a Venatori camp. It was more a series of short fights than a pitched battle. Each hard and dirty, but not nearly the kind of fighting Dorian expected, especially considering the Qunari asked for help. The Qun had been trying to take Seheron for years and the stories that circled through Minrathous about the fighting were epic and bloody. A handful of Venatori shouldn’t have been any challenge. He tried to trade glances with Bull, but Bull was too busy looking pleased that they’d come out of their fight and that the Chargers looked good on their side.

When they saw the second group of Venatori headed toward the Chargers’ location, Dorian wanted to feel surprised, but all he felt was dread. “They can’t hold out against those numbers.” They didn’t even know the danger was coming. Bull’s boys were good fighters, but they’d already been through one battle and the Venatori had a shit load of magic and surprise on their side.

Gatt spit at his feet then turned to Bull. “Your men must hold the position, Hissrad. Not only will the dreadnought be lost, but any hope of an alliance.”

Trevelyan nodded, like it made sense, and pulled the horn from Bull’s grip. “They hold the line.”

Bull looked lost, caught between his duty to the Qun and Trevelyan, and to his men. Instead of his regular, upright posture, he leaned forward, toward the Chargers’ location, like he could bridge the distance by will. “Boss.”

“I know it’s a hard choice, Bull.” There was a glimmer of the man Trevelyan used to be, and then it was gone. “But the alliance with the Qun might win us the war. We can’t throw it away for the sake of a few lives.

Trevelyan had sat in the Herald’s Rest with the Chargers after killing the dragon in the Hinterlands. He’d bought them a round of drinks. He laughed with them, ate with them. He knew their names. Dorian didn’t think Trevelyan considered any of them as people anymore. “Inquisitor.” He didn’t know where to start, but someone needed to say something. 

Trevelayn swung his gaze toward Dorian, all kindness gone. “Now is not the time to test me, Dorian.” His disobedience in the Fade hung between them as Trevelyan threw the horn on the ground and smashed it with his boot. “We hold the cliff and secure passage for the dreadnought.”

“All right, but we could help them.” Their location was secure, there was no reason for them to stay when the Chargers needed help. And though the Venatori were crossing the beach, they were not yet at the base of the hill. “We could reach them in time.”

“Hold position.” Trevelyan nodded to Gatt. “It’s not just about the dreadnought. It’s a test of the Qun. They want to know if we are willing to do what is necessary. We hold position.”

“Boss.” Bull sounded wrecked. Dorian didn’t want to imagine a world in which the Chargers died and he lived on without them. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Trevelyan crossed his arms. “You didn’t really sign up at all. The Qun ordered you here. The Qun demands the sacrifice.”

“Fuck that.” Dorian tightened his grip on his staff. “That is too far, Trevelyan. We’re working to save a world that’s better than the one designed by Corypheus. If we do this, we’re no better.” He glanced to Sera.

She grabbed up the last of her arrows out of a corpse. “That’s not helping people. That’s being too big to help them.” She glared Bull. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He hesitated, then straightened. “No.”

“You’ll be Tal-Vashoth. You’d throw everything away for this,” he flung a hand out, encompassing Dorian, Sera and the Chargers.

Bull shrugged, and then swung up his axe. “They’re my boys. They’re following me, not the Qun. I can’t leave them.”

Trevelayn moved to block Dorian’s path, but his sword was sheathed. “If you leave, it’s treason.”

Dorian had a moment’s regret for Cullen. “It feels like treason either way.” He started off at a run, Sera and Bull close behind. Their own battle had been hard enough; they went into the second fight winded and drained and without the backup of Trevelyan’s great sword. He raised a small army of the dead to charge into the fight, lending help before they could make it to the Charger’s position. Dorian burned through bodies and lyrium potions. When the last bottle was as empty as his own reserves, he went to work, blocking and slashing with his staff, grateful now that Dagna had insisted on upgrading his blade.

Sera resorted to using her bow as a blunt object in between retrieving arrows from the recently downed. She moved like lightening through their enemies, striking and the bounding off before they knew they’d been hit. More than once her careful timing prevented a terrible end.

And Bull. Bull was an unstoppable force. Dorian had never seen him so focused in a fight, or so vicious. Even facing down a dragon, there was joy in his battle. Against the Venatori, for the lives of his boys, there was nothing but ruthless murder.

At last, the final Venatori fell and Dorian slumped to the ground where he stood. He felt drained, empty of both mana and feeling. His fingers were tingling from too much magic and the landscape spun as though he’d had too much to drink. He could see most of the Chargers still standing, though and that was all that mattered. 

A hand fell on his shoulder and Dorian looked up at Trevelyan’s severe face. He had a potion bottle in his other hand. “Drink this.”

He took the bottle with shaking hands and downed it in one go. Instead of the warm wash of a healing potion or the slow refill of lyrium, a chill swept through him and he was immediately sick. Though his stomach emptied, the effects of the potion continued to build, leaving him shivering and unable to feel his magic at all. 

“Magebane. It will have to do until we can find a collar.” He turned away. “Load him up and post a guard. It’s a long way back to Skyhold.”

*

The trip back to Skyhold could have taken weeks or hours for all Dorian knew. The Magebane drained him of not just his mana, but also his senses. It was a poison, meant for battle, and the temporary draining of a mage. Long term, forced down his throat by a pair of soldiers, Dorian heard the voice of his father. It was as if he was standing in Halward’s study, on the cusp of manhood, the awkward angles of his limbs evening out toward lithe and powerful. 

_“This is the last respectable Circle in all of Tevinter. You cannot continue to act as though consequences are for other people.”_

_Dorian pressed his lips together. Arguing did no good, not when faced with an angry Halward. It didn’t matter that he was the one who told Dorian he was better than his peers. He was the one who encouraged his fights. Letters from him and mother made it clear that in every action he should be superior. It wasn’t his fault the others didn’t take kindly to their own ineptitude._

_“You will study, you will learn. You will leave behind this, this foolishness. You are nearly grown now, Dorian. It isn’t enough to be the best in face and form. You must conform to the role set to you.” He drew his hand over his face. “Why can’t you leave this childishness behind? I would trade a son weaker in magic for one who would not get caught in closets with his fellows.”_

Another memory:

_His mother seated at his bedside, her hands stiff and claw-like. The lingering pain of the wound and the fear from the attack filtered into every crevice of his body. They thought a boy of ten would be an easy target. Little did they know that a Magister’s son was no weak victim. He’d fought them off, as best he could, until help arrived. But now he was injured and afraid, each breath drew against the wounds and he worried that they would come back, now when he wasn’t strong enough to defend himself._

_He wanted her to speak to him, to brush his hair or sing as she had when he was very, very small. “You must be stronger. There will be no others and I did not commit myself to this life to turn it over to your pig of an uncle.”_

In a fevered moment, after a strong dose, he thought Cullen was at his side. _He smiled, but Cullen’s face was tight, severe. “Magic cannot be control. The only good mage is a dead one.” His hands were cold as they held Dorian down, his sword pressed to Dorian’s throat. He could feel the thin trickle of blood seep down his neck and pool at the base of his throat. He longed for death if it meant he didn’t have to hear more of Cullen’s accusations._

Eventually, the rocking of a cart was traded for the cold, stone floor of a prison cell and it was almost a relief when the collar fixed around his neck meant the end of the Magebane. He lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling and let the rush of the waterfall block out all his thoughts.

“This is what happens when you tie yourself to those without magic. They never understand.”

Dorian thought he was hallucinating again. The poison was mostly gone, but he’d been unable to eat for days and had only been able to tolerate small sips of water. 

“You should have joined me. We’d be ruling together.”

Alexius. He liked to forget that his mentor was locked below Skyhold. Harder, when he was in the next cell. “Shut up.” His voice was raw, but even if his words were indistinct, his tone should have been clear.

“What southerner wouldn’t blame magic the first chance he gets?” There was a scuttling sound and then Alexius’ voice was closer. “There’s still time. We could work together. If we give the Inquisitor to Corypheus, all will be forgiven.”

He tugged at the collar around his throat, sealed with magic. It was almost too tight, but Dagna had been very careful. Her hands shook when she fixed it around his neck and there were tears in her eyes. He’d wanted to comfort her, but his hands wouldn’t work and his voice wasn’t under his control. Still, he hoped she knew he didn’t blame her. There was only one person to blame. “You were better than this, once.”

Alexius continued to talk at him as if Dorian hadn’t spoken. Maybe he didn’t care what Dorian thought. Or maybe it was easier to live in the enemy’s prison without considering the what-might-have-beens. Dorian closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound of the water and the steady flow of air into his lungs, letting Alexius rattling fall into a monotonous background. He slept, or perhaps just drifted, but when he was next aware, Alexius was silent and Trevelyan was standing at the door to his cell.

“I never wanted this.”

Dorian turned away. He didn’t want to speak. The man had been willing to sacrifice friends to a greater good. Dorian knew there was nothing he could say that would sway the Inquisitor. He should have taken Trevelyan’s deal and gotten out of Ferelden when he had the chance.

“I’d hoped that your defiance in the Fade was a result of the Champion’s influence. I gave you a second chance. I’ve given you a dozen second chances to prove to me that a Tevinter mage can be part of something good. And all you’ve done is throw it in my face. I gave you the commander of my army because I thought it might help you.”

Dorian sat up and clenched his eyes shut as the room spun. “You didn’t give me Cullen. You forced us together.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Your interactions didn’t seem too forced, of late.”

“Because we had to make peace with each other. You can’t just give people away. What happened to you that this is who you are? Where is the Trevelyan I met in Redcliffe who cried because Leliana sacrificed herself?”

Trevelyan closed the distance to the bars of his cell and slammed a hand against the hard metal. “I am who I am today _because_ of what we saw in the future. They sacrificed everything to get us back here. How can I not do the same to keep that world from happening?”

Dorian closed his eyes and returned to rest against the floor. “What good is the world if there’s no one left to care about in it?” The image of Felix flashed before his eyes, standing in the Chantry in Redcliffe. _There’s worse things than death._ He wished he had Felix to talk to, instead of Trevelyan or Alexius. He thought he finally understood what Felix was trying to tell him. Too late. Always too late.

“I warned you. I told you it was treason.”

“You’ll have me executed then?” It was strange to speak of his own death in such certain and cold terms. Executed sounded so much cleaner than murdered.

“There will be a hearing at dawn. As a last act of clemency, I’ve allowed you visitors.” He was silent so long, Dorian thought he missed the sound of his leaving. Then, he tapped the bars in a faint pattern. “I didn’t want this.”

The sound of his footsteps faded, and were replaced with another set. Bull came to lean against the bars of his prison, his face lined and older than Dorian ever remembered it being. 

“Me and the boys will be leaving. Without information from the Qun, I’m not that useful to the Inquisition and I don’t want them to be casualties to this war. We can still fight, but I’ll be in charge of where and how. Thanks for that.” He leaned in and dropped his voice. “We could get you out of here. Think you’d make a good merc.”

Dorian laughed. “I’d be terrible. All hard sleeping and killing for money. You’d be sick of me in a week.” He waved a hand. “If you left with me, Trevelyan would put the whole weight of the Inquisition to tracking you down.”

“There’s plenty of places outside his influence still.”

“Best not.” He was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted. But the danger was too great. And he would make a terrible mercenary.

“We’ll be there for you in the morning.”

Dorian smiled up at him. How strange to count Bull among his best friends. He would have never expected it when they first met. All he could see was the grey skin and the horns. He worried that Bull would be the one to collar him, sew his mouth shut. Instead, he offered comfort before his execution. “Thank you.”

They talked a while longer, Bull’s gruff voice soothing out some of his anxiety. He offered again to break Dorian out before he left, but Dorian declined. He was trying to prevent needless deaths, after all.

After Bull, Dorian had a series of visitors. Sera clutched at his hands through the bars and swore she’d fill Trevelyan full of arrows. Vivienne tutted at his accommodations and shoved a blanket—embroidered and sinfully soft—through the bars. When Varric came, he called Dorain kid and promised to write him as the hero of his own story. He was surprised when Hawke came to visit, and again when Krem came as the representative of the Chargers. The rest of the inner circle made an appearance, some brief and uncomfortable, others longer and heartfelt. Blackwall was surprisingly kind, given their relationship. Each offered in their own way to ease his time or help free him. None of them had plans that prevented more deaths. He thanked them each and sent them on their way. 

As the night wore on and more and more faces passed before him, Dorian began to worry that the one person he wanted to see would not visit. He couldn’t blame Cullen, not when he’d been the one to open himself to Dorian, to make the first brave movement in their relationship. Cullen had sent him the letter telling him to be careful. And Dorian had been reckless. Perhaps it was better that they not see each other again. He wondered if Cullen would be there in the morning.

Cassandra was the last to leave, a pained, tight smile on her face that was meant to be encouraging. With Vivienne’s blanket to ward off the night chill, Dorian laid back and wondered if he would be able to sleep when he heard another set of footsteps. His treacherous, traitorous heart leapt and he didn’t let himself look up, lest he be disappointed. 

“I should have let you leave.” Tears threatened to overwhelm him at the sound of Cullen’s voice as he closed the distance between them and sat on the ground outside Dorian’s cell.

Dorian squeezed his eyes closed until the tight feeling passed and then sat up to lean next to Cullen. There was plenty of space between the bars for Dorian to shove his hand through and twine their fingers together. “I don’t regret it.” He was angry and feeling helpless, but he didn’t regret their time together.

“It was selfish. I didn’t want you to go.” He stroked his thumb over Dorian’s knuckles. “The first time I saw you, you came riding through Haven’s gates. You were laughing at something Trevelyan said and I wanted to drop everything and find out who you were. You were so beautiful that day, with sun shining through your hair and highlighting that ridiculous cut-out in your armor.”

He’d had no idea. “You were so gruff with me.”

“You were a distraction I couldn’t let myself have. I thought if you disliked me, it would be easier. But you were always there, working so hard. It was impossible to keep up.” He brought Dorian’s hand to his lips. “I wanted to dance with you at Halamshiral. The courtiers avoided you like you carried a pestilence, but I thought you would have been magnificent on the dance floor.”

He sighed, imagining the feel of Cullen in his arms moving to the music. “So much wasted time. Promise me that you won’t waste it again. If you see someone,” he swallowed. When did he become so selfless? How was this his life? “Don’t wait. Be brave.”

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and pressed Dorian’s hand hard enough into his mouth that it must have hurt him. “I think I’m done with that.” A choked off sob ran through Cullen and he curled forward in agony. “I don’t know how to get you out of this.”

If he’d had access to his magic, he would have melted the bars to take Cullen in his arms. As it was, he forced as much of himself through as he could, stroking over Cullen’s hair, soothing his arms and the strong muscles of his back. Without his armor he looked half naked, vulnerable in way that even in tears on the floor didn’t cover. 

“It’s all right. It’s all right.” He didn’t know what else to say. There was nothing to say. The Chargers were safe and perhaps his fate would be a reckoning for the Inquisitor. Sera had been ready to storm out and he thought a few of the others would follow in her wake. “He is too powerful, there’s nothing to be done without destroying the Inquisition.”

“Maybe that’s what we need.” Cullen leaned back, fierce. “If this is what we’ve come to, it’s time to start over.”

Dorian soothed his hand over Cullen’s cheeks and jaw. His stubble was growing closer to a beard, and there was a hollowness to his cheeks Dorian didn’t like. “Not before Corypheus is dealt with. Keep watch, be steady. Once Corypheus is gone, that will be the time to act.”

Cullen turned his head and kissed Dorian’s palm. “How can you be so calm?”

“I’ve been on the run for years, and living on borrowed time.” The truth was he felt empty. It might have been a side effect from the poison, or maybe it was all just too ridiculous to believe, but he was distanced from everything. Everything except Cullen. “It’s all right.”

Another choked sound escaped him and Cullen leaned forward to rest his head against the slip of Dorian’s that was available through the bars. He whispered Dorian’s name, over and over, like part of the Chant. Dorian would have stopped him, but he wanted to hear Cullen’s voice. They stayed like that, along the bars of Dorian’s cell until daybreak when a pair of Cullen’s own soldiers came to collect them. 

After a long night in an uncomfortable position, Dorian’s body was brittle and stiff. He was weak from days without food and the poison of the Magebane. It was more than a desire for closeness that kept Cullen at his side, an arm wrapped around him. He leaned in to Cullen’s strength, glad to share that last touch with him. It was a comfort as they made slow progress out of the dungeon and up each painful step. 

The courtyard was cleared. Dorian didn’t know if it was because of the early hour or in deference to his hearing, but he was grateful for it. Bad enough that so many saw him totter through the main hall like an old man. They were the faces of his friends, and those who thought well of him. He didn’t want to see the expressions of people who thought themselves justified in their suspicions of him all along. 

Cullen led him up the long path to the throne where Trevelyan sat as calm and collected as the Archon himself. Pitted against each other, Dorian would have put odds on the Inquisitor and it was not a good thought. How could he have ever imagined he could manage someone like Trevelyan? Dorian kept hoping he would return to the man he’d been, and failed to see that man was long left behind.

The presence of his friends was a small boon, and they gave him strength as Cullen released him after one last squeeze. He went to stand next to Josephine, but his eyes never left Dorian. Josephine, for her part, looked ready to cry as she stepped forward to read the charges. Dorian had been to enough of Trevelyan’s judgements to know the routine. He only half-listened as she listed his crimes.

None of it felt real. He saved lives, the lives of people who mattered, who were fighting for the Inquisition. It should never have come to a trial. Trevelyan’s gaze was steady and pitiless as Josephine spoke. Dorian felt that they both wished to forgo the trappings and move on to judgement. It wasn’t even a real trial. Dorian had no defense and Trevelyan’s mind was already set. They had parts in a pageant as a warning to the rest of the Inquisition. Trevelyan was only lucky that Dorian was the one to be sacrificed and not say, Cassandra who had the respect of every soldier in the fortress and the hearts of most.

“Do you have anything to say?”

He drew a breath and hoped his voice wouldn’t shake. “It was the right thing to do.”

“No!” Trevelyan roared, slamming his fist against the arm of his throne. “The Qunari have withdrawn their support. How many lives will be lost without them? Do you think those who weep for you now will not curse your name when they are dying because we did not have _every_ ally?”

Dorian lifted his chin. “You are power hungry, and act with all the restraint of a child. Mark my words, when Corypheus lies at your feet, the people will have a new enemy to defeat. I have known men like you. It will never be enough.”

Trevelyan stood and Dorian thought he might stride down the steps to strike him. Instead, gazed around the room and then pinned Dorian in his spot. “Dorian Pavus, once friend, I hereby sentence you. You will be made Tranquil. When we can be sure of you loyalties, we will put you to service.”

The sentence might as well have been a physical blow. Dorian lost his breath and his bearing. The guards at his sides kept him from falling, but their grip on his arms ignited his terror. Strength that he thought lost to poison and illness rushed through him as he fought, tearing out of the grip of the soldiers. He dug deep, clawed at the reserve of his magic with everything he had. He could feel it, just out of his reach, but the collar made it so difficult to catch hold. The sentence echoed through him again and his terror gave him the push.

Holding his magic through the barrier of the collar was like holding molten lead. He lashed out, set fire to the draperies and Trevelyan’s banner even as he burned. He cast Horror, careless of who it hit. He wanted them to feel as he felt. 

Through it all Trevelyan stood calm and collected, as if watching a show. “Where will you go?” he asked through the chaos.

Dorian cast a final Mind Blast at Trevelyan that knocked his smug face unconscious and back into his chair. With it, though, Dorian’s reserves were spent and the magic of the collar overwhelmed him. He sank to his knees, wavering. “He will sacrifice you all.” He meant to shout, to sound hardened and resolved, but his voice was a whisper and he collapsed soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes--very, very rarely--a chapter comes together exactly how I want it to. I plotted out this whole thing over the course of a couple commutes and showers and I have to say that it held together almost exactly the way I wanted. There are always things I could do better, but, man, I am so pleased with myself.
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger? We'll be resolving matters soon enough.


	8. Chapter 8

Dorian drifted close to wakefulness for a long time before he understood he was asleep. There was a deep, mellow voice droning in the background. He was comfortable and warm. The Fade grew weaker, and between one breath and the next he was aware.

He eased his eyes open to a room filled with soft sunlight, in muted colors. Not his room, but not a sick room either. He tried to stretch and found muscles weak and sore from misuse. And then he remembered the hall, Trevelyan’s sentence. He reached up and touched his forehead, met with smooth skin. Did the mark leave a physical impression on the skin? He’d never thought to ask.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. I thought you were going to sleep away the whole year.”

Dorian turned his head and blinked in surprise at the man sitting at his bedside. Did the Tranquil feel surprise? “What’s happening?”

Easton closed the book he’d been reading aloud from and stood. He laid a broad, warm hand on Dorian’s forehead. “Quite a lot.” He patted Dorian’s hand. “Now, I promised I’d let them know as soon as you woke, but I know you’ve got questions. Everyone’s okay, including you. There’re folks here who can explain better what’s going on, but I’ll sit with you until someone comes.” He didn’t wait for Dorian to form his next question before sticking his head out of the door and talking to someone on the other side.

He couldn’t quite remember what happened after Trevelyan’s sentencing, the memories a blur of terror and fire. But none of that was as confusing as Easton’s presence. “Why are you here?”

Easton laughed and re-took his seat. “I’ll take that in the manner it’s intended, and not how it sounds. Cullen sent for me. He wanted someone to look after you while he and the others left. Thalia and I are both here. I’ve got a neighbor’s oldest watching the farm while we’re away. It’s not any trouble.”

Dorian lifted his hand to rub at his eyes and was caught by the sight of his flesh. He raised the other hand and found it in a similar state, long scars like lightening starting at his fingertips and ending above his elbows. The mark of strong magic, out of control in the body of the caster. On another, it might have been beautiful, striking. On his own arms, he felt sick.

He let his hands fall, but not before Easton registered his discomfort. “I don’t understand much of what Madam de Fer said, other than it was a powerful lot of magic you put through your body. They’ll fade a bit, in time.”

“Yes, well, as luck would have it, it’s beastly cold in the south, so I’ll be able to keep them covered.”

“Now, there’s nothing wrong with the marks of a hard life.” Easton propped his leg on the edge of Dorian’s bed and pulled up the leg of his trousers. A long, thick scar twisted around his knee and ran the length of his shin. “Got caught in the sharp end of the plough the summer I turned twenty. Almost cost me the leg, but there was a healer visiting family up in the village. I survived and I’ve got a bit of a story to share, nothing wrong with that.”

He’d grown used to the scars of battle from his time with the Inquisition. The burns and brands from enemies too many and too large. Those were marks of honor, proof that he was better than the people and things they fought. He looked at the marks on his hands and wanted to hide them away. He didn’t know what those signified. “I suppose.”

Easton reached over and squeezed Dorian’s shoulder. “Maybe it doesn’t feel that way now, but it might. Give yourself some time.” He released his hold, but stayed close. “Do you want to try and sit up?”

“I think I can manage that on my own.” He pushed his hands against the bed and found his arms shook with the effort and he was able to only lift himself a fraction off the bed. “Or, perhaps, a little help would be in order.” He let Easton get an arm behind his back and prop him up against a pile of pillows. 

With a clearer view of the room, it was obvious he was in one of the guest quarters set aside for visiting dignitaries. Next to Easton’s chair there was a small table piled high with books and papers. There was evidence of a sewing project and a collection of carved wooden animals. “You’re a fast worker.”

“Ah, that’d be Thalia. She loves making them for the little ones. We’ve been trading off shifts so you wouldn’t wake up alone.” He picked up a figure, a snake coiled and sleeping. “Cullen said you’ve a fondness for snakes.”

He shrugged and took the figure. It was expertly crafted and smooth to the touch. Even the tiny face had a bit of personality. “They were a common enough aspect of my childhood.” Aquinea went overboard decorating his childhood room with the reminder he was meant for great things in Tevinter. It was possibly the only thing foisted on him that he didn’t mind.

“Mmm, Cullen was taken with mabari.”

“Of course.” The Commander practically screamed a childhood obsessed with dogs. Dorian imagined the only reason he didn’t have one currently was because he was punishing himself. Penance of some kind meant to make him a better person or some ridiculous nonsense.

“He was quite good with the barn cats, as well.” Easton scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, he was good with most of the animals. We had a horse that bit near everyone who came round, but Cullen could walk right up to him, scratch his nose and he wouldn’t bat an eye.”

Before Dorian could pull out more stories of a young Cullen, the door opened and Josephine rushed in. She looked in more of a state than he’d ever seen. Even after the destruction of Haven, knee deep in snow waiting for word on Trevelyan, she’d barely had a hair out of place and had worked to calm the crowds.

“Dorian! Oh, thank the Maker you’re awake.” She crossed to his side and took his hand between hers. “We were so worried when you didn’t wake.”

Dorian cleared his throat, but didn’t pull away. “Yes, well. Here I am. Easton said you’d be able to explain what’s happened?”

She glanced at Easton, who stood with an easy grace. “I’ll just see myself out. Thalia and I will come back ‘round for dinner, though. It’ll be nice to share a meal with you while your eyes are open.” 

Josie took Easton’s seat. She still hadn’t let go of his hand. “So much has happened, I’m not sure where to start.”

“How about where is everyone?” He didn’t want to ask outright why Cullen’s parents had been sitting with him instead of Cullen himself. It left a sick feeling in his stomach, worried that Trevelyan had thrown him in the dungeon, and was waiting for Dorian’s recovery to carry out the sentence.

“They’re in the Arbor Wilds, meeting Corypheus’ army.”

“What?” He tried to sit forward, but his body betrayed him. He settled for squeezing Josie’s hand. “But we’ve just returned from Adamant, how could they be ready for another battle?”

A shadow passed over her face, but it was gone before Dorian could identify it. “I’m afraid that the conflict at Adamant finished just less than two months ago. You’ve been in a state since the sentencing in the main hall, no one has been able to wake you.”

*

Josie tried her best to give some structure to what happened since Dorian’s last memory, but he was overwhelmed. Two months of time missing. He touched his face and found the thick growth of a beard covering his cheeks and chin, his mustache sorely in need of tending. His hair was longer than it had been since he was a child. Josie left a mirror with him, but he was afraid to look in it, certain he was not going to like what looked back at him.

“Get some rest. I’ll come by in the morning and we’ll go over the timeline.” She patted his hand and walked to the door. “It’s very good to see you awake. I don’t think you appreciate how much you’ve been missed.”

Dorian watched her leave then tipped his head back to contemplate the ceiling. Two months, his body so drained from his panicked magic in the hall that he’d been unresponsive for weeks. No wonder he couldn’t move his own body. Years of training gone to waste as he lay idle and dreaming.

And the final confrontation with Corypheus happening without him. Josie tried to give him the details, but his mind kept circling around the missing time, trying to fill in the spaces. Apparently Cullen had been sitting with him until the army was called away. He had time to arrange for Easton and Thalia to arrive. Thoughtful, really. More than Dorian deserved for the position he’d put them all in.

Josephine had said nothing of Trevelyan, and Dorian wasn’t sure if it was because she was worried he wouldn’t take it well or if there was something worse to come. 

The sun set on his swirling thoughts and he was interrupted by another knock. This time Thalia led the charge through the door. She crossed to his side and took his face in her hands. The feel of his full beard against her skin was strange, but not any more strange than the affection in her face, the relief at seeing him awake.

“It’s so good to see you looking back at me.” With the ease of someone used to slinging kids and animals, she slipped an arm behind his back and slid him even more upright, sitting properly, instead of reclining. She rearranged his blankets and smoothed his hair, touching him the way a mother might her own child. “We’ve brought some food, but we’ll save the more tempting things for another day. You haven’t had anything but broth and potions for weeks, so it’s soup tonight.”

She sounded apologetic, but as soon as the scent of the soup hit him, Dorian realized he was ravenous. Plain soup seemed like the most decadent meal he’d ever tasted. His mouth wanted more, but he was only able to drink down a small portion before his belly rumbled uncomfortably and he had to push it aside. 

Thalia chatted with him through dinner, catching him up on gossip from the farm. It was grounding to hear her talk about things he didn’t really understand. With all of the fighting and planning it was easy to lose sight of the fact that everyone else in Thedas was getting on with their lives as best they could. The news from Thalia helped ease some of the ache in his chest at how much he missed.

“Oh, Josephine brought you a mirror.” She tapped the ornate handle, but didn’t lift it.

Dorian frowned. “I haven’t had a chance to look.”

“Probably best. You’re bound to be a little weak and a broken mirror is bad luck for love and hairlines.” Easton pulled it from the table. 

“In Tevinter, a broken mirror is said to cast the bloodline with weak magic.” The Ferelden curse sounded worse. 

“Want a peek?”

He hesitated and then nodded. No use putting it off, he wasn’t going to look any better the next day or the day after that. Easton pressed the mirror into his hands and a stranger looked back at him. Or, less a stranger, and more a cross between his father and his mother’s brother. His moustache had been as much to irritate his father as to put some age onto his face. Without it, he was constantly mistaken for a student, well into his late twenties, and he’d wanted something to distinguish himself from his peers and the friends of his father. Felix had been merciless in his critique, saying he was living up to all of the terrible old tales, but after it grew in, after it became part of who he was, Felix admitted it suited him. 

The full beard added more years and highlighted the fact that time was encroaching on him. While his hair, longer and unstyled, was pure black, his beard was shot through with red highlights and silver that would take over in time. He was thin, almost gaunt, and lack of sun had done nothing for his complexion. He hoped Cullen had been called way before he lost so much of his beauty.

“We’ll get that taken care of tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be a relief to have your old self back again.” Easton took the mirror back when Dorian thrust it at him and was kind enough not to comment on his shaking hands. He set it aside and started up a story about Cullen’s rivalry with Mia when they were children. 

Dorian wanted them to stay and talk him through the night, but as his attention faltered and his eyelids grew heavy, Thalia stood. “And we’ve kept you too long. It’s just nice to see you awake.”

Easton dropped a stack of papers on the bedside table. “Letters for you, once you’re feeling better. We’ve sent out a message already that you’re awake. I imagine there will be more in the days to come.” They left him to sleep, as if he could sleep with the promise of letters tempting him from his bedside.

The first was from Mia, including well wishes for a quick recovery. She noted that letters from Cullen had been longer and more frequent and she attributed it to Dorian’s influence. He wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but he was happy to take the credit. He set it aside and broke into the next.

There was a short note from Bull, telling him to fight whatever demons he was facing in his dreams. There was an implied warning that Bull would be the one to take care of him should Dorian lose while in the Fade. It might have been strange, but from Bull it was both practical and caring.

Varric wished him well and included a short excerpt from his newest venture, an arrogant Tevinter Mage won over by a shy and capable Templar. It was trash, but it made him smile. The Tevinter Mage was described as handsome and sharp, the Templar akin to a mabari. It was fitting and almost charming.

None of the letters from the Inquisition had any account of what happened, no news, and no mentions of events other than a wish for recovery. Dorian suspected a conspiracy, which was confirmed when he found Cullen’s letter, last in the pile. His script was slightly unsteady, as if he wrote either in a rush or under duress. Dorian supposed that, given events, it could have been both.

_Dear Dorian,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Well, no, that’s a lie. I hope I find you well and this letter is given by my hand. We’re off at dawn and as there’s been no change in your responsiveness, I don’t expect that you will read this before we return, victorious._

_There is another letter waiting, once Josephine has a chance to fill you in on all of the particulars since you’ve been sleeping. I didn’t want anything to come as a shock so I’ve read the other letters myself, just to make sure they followed my orders. I must say, your relationship with both The Iron Bull and Varric are very strange. I’m not certain how I feel about staring in one of Varric’s works. No, there I go, lying again. I don’t like it, but I can’t stop him. I will say his description of the Mage character is spot on. Alluring is exactly the word I would have chosen to mark you._

_You were so brave, that day in the hall, standing before Trevelyan while the rest of us were ready to let him take you from us. You showed me what I was missing, I think. That this is a difference between following a just cause and following a just leader. You opened all of our eyes._

_Listen to me. I’m not trying to sound mysterious, but it’s coming out that way. So many things have happened, but I’m hesitant to put them into writing. I don’t think this is the kind of thing we’re going to want to have a written record of for future generations. Or even this one._

_Know this: we are safe, we are well. We will meet Corypheus’ army in the Wilds and when I see you again, the breach in the sky will be but a memory._

_Rest well, dearest. We have much to discuss when next we meet._

_Yours,_   
_Cullen_

Dorian read through the letter twice more, looking for hidden meanings or something to indicate what had happened, but it was stripped down to the barest level of information. If he meant to be reassuring, Cullen missed his mark. The weariness that had plagued Dorian was gone and he was consumed with the need to know. 

His first attempt to get out of bed was nearly his last. His legs betrayed him from the first, dead weights that pulled him to the floor when he swung them over the side of the bed. The stones beneath his body were thankfully cool and helped keep him focused on his task. He was dressed, of a sort, in a long nightshirt more suited to the very old and the very young, but he didn’t have the strength to change _and_ to make it out the door. 

With the bed as leverage, he pushed himself to his feet, wavered and almost collapsed again, but managed to stay upright. He’d have to thank whoever brewed his potions. Without them, after two months of inactivity, he would have been a puddle of a man. Instead, he was a wobbly jelly.

The distance to the door was immense, but he managed, step by uncertain step, until he was leaning against the heavy wood, gasping for breath. When he felt he could manage the act, he leaned back and opened the door.

“Ser?”

He gasped and fell back, tripped over his feet and ended up on his ass as one of Cullen’s soldiers loomed over him. 

“Shall I call someone?”

Dorian waved the solider away. He didn’t want her help. “Get me Leliana.” 

“Can I help you back to bed, first, ser?”

“Leliana!” 

She ran off and Dorian had time to regret not taking her help. He just managed to gain his feet when Leliana came through his door. She did not seem surprised to find him struggling. She gave him her arm as support to guide him back to bed. “You’ve won me five gold. I told Josephine you wouldn’t be content to wait. She seems to think you have better sense.”

Dorian drew up his blanket, partly out of chill, but also because Leliana discomforted him. Though they shared the same space in the library, he could easily count the number of conversations they had in his time at Skyhold. She knew far too much about the lives of the people in the fortress for him to ever trust himself around her. Every conversation felt like the ones he had at political gatherings in Tevinter—loaded and dangerous.

If anyone could tell him what had happened though, and not spare his feelings, she was the one. “I’ll be happy to double your winnings if you could end my suspense.” 

She paused for the briefest moment and then nodded as if she’d come to a silent agreementwith herself. “Your display put us all in a very uncomfortable position. I don’t think there was anyone in that room who believed that Trevelyan would go through with your sentence. I believe many of them thought it was an attempt to scare everyone, you included, into falling under his control. When you hit him with your spells, you knocked him out and gave us the breathing room to consider the next step.”

“The next step?”

“Cassandra and I had been talking about Trevelyan’s power for weeks, but there was always the danger that someone would overhear and word would get back to him. With him unconscious and guarded by The Iron Bull and his men, we had a chance to discuss our options openly. With Cullen and Josie in the room, we came to an accord and the rest of the inner circle agreed. Trevelyan is still Inquisitor, but in name alone. The War Council makes the decisions for the Inquisition, Trevelyan gets to keep his title and save face. When Corypheus is finally defeated, he can retire to a lovely estate on the coast where he can live out the rest of his days in peace and quiet.”

Dorian felt shaky. “And he agreed?”

“We didn’t leave him much choice. The Inquisitor isn’t much without an army, or a spy network or diplomatic ties to ease the way between warring kingdoms. Bull is at his side day and night, we’ve put out the word that there was an attempt and Bull is his protection. Trevelyan knows that should he step out of line, Bull is authorized to do what he must.” She sighed. “He’s a selfish man, but he doesn’t want to die and he doesn’t want Thedas to fall. He’s not happy, but he is compliant. That is all we require.”

None of it seemed real. Perhaps had he been awake and aware for the events, it might have seemed likely, but hearing it recounted, simple and bare was almost like hearing a child’s story. “It can’t have been that easy.”

“Oh, no. There was fighting and shouting. Trevelyan fought hard to keep his power and his place. But he pushed too far too soon. To move against one of his chosen advisors broke the faith in the rest of us. It reminded us that, divine will or no, he is just a man. A man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and has been trying his best this whole time. We should put our faith in the Maker and Andraste, not in men. It was a good reminder.”

He rubbed his hand against his chin, a physical reminder of the passage of time and the changes that had been wrought in his absence. He wanted to speak with Cullen, he wanted to hear from Bull that Trevelyan was tamed. It wasn’t that he doubted Leliana’s word, but there was a level of comfort in the two of them that wasn’t in her version of events. “Thank you.”

“Please, get some rest. Once you have your strength back, we’ll need your expertise as the Inquisition moves into a post Corypheus world.” She hesitated as she rose, and Dorian could feel her trying to decide if she wanted to touch him, if he would welcome it. There were times when he could almost believe the stories about her traveling with the Hero of Ferelden young and eager. But she straightened without a touch and left him to his thoughts. Whoever she had been, she was a long way from that person. He thought that perhaps they were all quite different after traveling with someone destined to change the world.

*

Over the next few days, Dorian’s strength began to return. He had a healer assigned to him that helped work him back toward his old self. She gave him a detailed diet, an exercise plan and insisted he keep a log of his activities for her review.

“Commander Cullen himself asked I look after you, ser. I’m not going against my promise because you don’t like the inconvenience.” She was older, long hair full grey, and seemed like she was moments away from pinching his ear and dragging him off, regardless of how closely he followed her instructions. 

Outside her influence, Cullen’s parents kept him in surprisingly good company. Both seemed to understand when he was overwhelmed and were content to sit in the quiet as he pretended to read and they worked on their hobbies. Thalia showed Dorian the basics of carving animals, though he didn’t have the knack for it that she did. Easton was patient as he walked Dorian through the finer points of needlework. That ended up being a better fit, since it captured his attention and the fine detail felt a lot like research, in a way. 

It was Easton who helped him shave, when his own hands proved too shaky to be trusted, and Thalia who cut his hair back into its preferred shape. They were both handy with a straight edge, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I’m doing better,” he said one afternoon. They’d finished a light lunch that consisted almost entirely of solid food and were taking a slow turn through the garden. “You could probably head back to the farm, if you needed to.”

“We talked about it,” Thalia admitted. “You’re in good hands here and I don’t think you need looking after so much. But it’s a big battle Cullen’s gone off to, and I’d feel better if we were here when he came back.”

Easton clapped his shoulder, gentle, but fond. “Besides, when else are we going to have the chance to spend so much time with our future son-in-law. You boys will be too busy once he’s back to have time to spend with us. It’s nice to get to know you.”

The thought of their marriage was something Dorian had packed away in a tidy box in the far corner of his mind. With Trevelyan out of power, there was no reason for them to go through with the wedding. Cullen might have developed a fondness for him, but without the order of the Inquisitor, there was nothing binding them together. That he’d not only begun to resign himself to their impending nuptials was shuffled away. It had been foolish of him to think that perhaps there was hope for something other than duty.

When Cullen returned, he completely expected that they would part ways. Perhaps they would be able to remain friends, but he doubted it. He’d never been good when faced with things he couldn’t have.

“Dorian!” He turned to find Josephine headed toward her at a pace just shy of a rush. “Dorian,” she paused and pulled in a breath to calm herself. “We’ve received word of a party headed toward Skyhold. Leliana sent out a scout. Your parents are on their way to the fortress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! I have been trying to finish this chapter for hours. I really, really wanted to get it out tonight, and I should have been in bed an hour ago, but it is done and it is here. 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me through this story. It was supposed to be light and a little angsty but primarily fluff. I am just as surprised as you are. Especially by the last chapter, I'm so sorry I upset so many of you. I hope this goes a long way toward easing that tension.
> 
> I think I can honestly say that this story will be done in the next two chapters, three on the outside. It's a little more drama (obvs) and then some wrapping up at this point. *she says hopefully*
> 
> Also! Those of you who commented and I've not responded: I'm not ignoring you, I love reading your comments and responding to your questions/observations/capslock. I'm just a little backed up and will be getting to you this week.


	9. Chapter 9

His parents. Of course they would come, when Dorian was certain there wasn’t a force in all of Thedas that could make them announce their presence in the Inquisition stronghold. “It’s a shame they traveled so far to be turned away at the gates.” Easton’s hand on his shoulder turned from a touch of affection to one of support as Dorian looked for a place to sit. 

Josie cleared her throat and steered him to a bench. “I can do that if that’s what you want.”

He’d have preferred that they were never informed of Trevelyan’s mad plan in the first place. Dorian sighed. “Why do I feel like that’s not the end of your statement?”

“I can send them away, but as high ranking Magisters from Tevinter, Magisters who aren’t involved with the Venatori, it might be beneficial to at least let them rest before sending them on their way.”

“Ah, but Magisters are like mice. Once you let them in, they’ll never go away.” He ran his fingers over his mustache, smoothing and straightening. He didn’t want them in the fortress, sharing space with him, their presence infecting the one place he’d managed to build for himself. Seeing his father, standing in the same room with him in Redcliffe, had been hard enough. If they stayed, he’d probably never sleep.

The last time he slept under the same roof as his father, well. 

The memory of blood, thick under his fingers and cloying in his nose overwhelmed him and he had to swallow hard to stop from being sick. Locked doors meant nothing to Halward Pavus. But Josephine knew nothing of that aspect of their history. No one in Skyhold knew the exact details of htier falling out. Even Trevelyan who’d sprung the meeting on him, and then kept egging him on to stay and talk didn’t know anything other than that Dorian discovered Halward’s plan. 

Woken in the middle of the night, lightheaded and disoriented from something in his dinner drinks, Halward had a slave hold him down, made the first cuts himself, first Dorian, then the slave. The stone floor was slick with their blood and Halward has slipped. An accident of fate that let Dorian break away and flee. 

Josie looked so hopeful, so diplomatic. She kept them safe when Leliana’s spies and Cullen’s swords would have been useless. She arranged for small treats from Tevinter for him, wine, incense, kohl, even when their resources had been the most spare. It was just one night, and it was a tactical mistake to try something so far from Tevinter. He could manage one night. 

“Let it not be said that the Inquisition is made of poor hosts. How long until they arrive?”

“They’ll be at the gate within the hour.”

“Plenty of time to make myself scarce.” He was of a mind to ask Josephine to tell them he was out of Skyhold and with the Inquisitor, but perhaps it was better if they knew he didn’t want to speak with them. He couldn’t imagine they’d have kind things to say, which made him turn to Cullen’s parents. “I’d advise the same to you. If they can’t find me, the vitriol they point in your direction will be ambitious.”

Easton frowned. “They don’t approve of the match?”

“Shall we count off the things that they will hold against you? Cullen is a man, he has no magic, and his family—forgive me—are farmers, he was a southern Templar. I could not have found a more spiteful match unless I bound myself to The Iron Bull.” No matter that the wedding would be off as soon as Cullen returned. The very idea that there were invitations floating through Thedas would be enough. 

Thalia rolled her shoulders back, the way Bull did before rushing into battle. “They think they’re too good for farm folk.”

“The House Pavus is one of the oldest and most powerful houses in Tevinter. They think they’re too good for everyone.”

The tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “I notice you ate well enough at my table.”

“Ah, but I left all of that nonsense behind when they tried,” he stopped short. It wasn’t the time to discuss family secrets. He preferred that Cullen’s parents didn’t know anything about what drove him from Tevinter. “Well. I try my best to leave the less attractive traits of Tevinter in my past.”

She softened. “We won’t go hiding, but we won’t go out of our way to meet them, either. Fair?”

“Of course. You can do as you please; I only want to save you the headache.” He pushed himself to his feet, feeling every muscle in his body. “Josephine, you are a dear.”

She patted his hand. “I will deal with them, no need to worry.”

Squirreled away in his room, Dorian wondered, not for the first time, what it might be like to pass through Skyhold unobserved. He had no desire to see Halward or Aquinea. His life was complicated enough without this disappointment and anger. But there was a part of him that was terribly curious about what they would say and how they would react to the Inquisition. The accommodations at Skyhold were far and away better than he’d seen on the run, better than Haven, but still no where near the level of comfort into which he was born.

It wasn’t worth getting caught, but he was still curious.

The hard pounding on his door less than half an hour later pulled him from a light doze and he lurched to the door before he was entirely sure of what was happening. One of Cullen’s soldiers stood on the other side, her face set in a serious mask. “You’re to come now, ser.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked even as he followed her from his room, their steps echoing off the cool stone. 

“The Inquisitor’s back.”

“How? The last reports had them in the Arbor Wilds.” He wasn’t sure he was ready to see Trevelyan. Josephine seemed to think he was tamed, but Dorian’s dreams were still plagued by the collar and the choking affect it had on his magic. 

“Don’t know, ser. Just that they came through some kind of magic mirror. Ambassador Montilyet wanted you to come.”

They rushed down a flight of stairs, through a set of doors and into chaos. The hall, so quiet with the Inquisitor and his inner circle gone, was bursting with people. His parents, _his parents_ , were standing at one end, shouting at Josie, while Trevelyan was arguing with a Morrigan near the throne. He looked worn, tired in a way that Dorian couldn’t remember him being, not even after the destruction of Haven. 

“Dorian!”

His whole body jerked at the sound of Cullen’s voice. The noise in the hall died as every eye turned in his direction. He could feel his parents’ regard, the weight of the Inquisitor’s gaze, but none of it mattered. Not when Cullen was striding across the hall, his steps purposeful, ground-eating. Dorian could only stand and watch as Cullen closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him, crushing him against his armor.

“Maker,” he breathed into Dorian’s hair, his voice soft and reverent. “We got the message that you woke, but I can’t believe,” He pulled back and studied Dorian’s face before sliding his hands up to curl around the nape of his neck, his thumbs stroking along Dorian’s jaw. And then he leaned in and was kissing him, kissing like he’d been without water in a desert for years and Dorian was a well.

It was better than their first kiss, better than any kiss Dorian could remember. The hall, the people, the world fell away until there was nothing but Cullen in his arms, his body smelling of sweat and metal, his hands callus-rough and gentle. There was a cut along his hairline and he was thinner than Dorian remembered, but nothing had ever felt so good as to have him in his arms.

Someone cleared their throat. “Pardon, gentlemen. I hate to interrupt your reunion, but we have matters to discuss.” Leliana broke their moment, sounding calm and honestly regretful.

Dorian wasn’t ready to pull away, but he was suddenly aware again of the number of people watching them. He began to pull away and was stopped by another kiss, close mouthed and almost chaste in comparison, but no less heartfelt. Cullen dropped his hands from Dorian’s face, but twined their fingers together and didn’t move away. 

“My parents are here,” he whispered to Cullen, careful not to look in their direction or acknowledge them in any way. He had no idea what they thought of his previous display, and it was better not to know. Never in his life had he been so public in his affections, but he wouldn’t take it back for anything.

“Then we should clear them out. There’s much to discuss.” Cullen nodded to Leliana who had Josephine move them out of the hall, along with everyone not of the inner circle. 

There was talk of a battle and an ancient sanctuary. A well with mysterious properties, but even with the fate of Thedas on the line, Dorian couldn’t follow the thread of conversation. His entire focus was on the point of contact between his fingers and Cullen’s. 

“We must send word for the army to return to Skyhold at once. We’re nearly defenseless without them.” Cullen squeezed his hand as he spoke and Dorian had no idea how he was able to concentrate enough on the conversation to offer advice. “Rylen is more than capable of getting them back in short order.”

“Leliana will send the message and we will prepare,” Cassandra’s voice was strong and sure, Trevelyan had yet to say a single word. “Corypheus will not wait long.” It was all the dismissal Dorian needed as he pulled Cullen away from the grouping. Some of the others tried to stop and talk with him and he did want to speak with them, but not until he’d had time with Cullen. 

He pulled them into the first free room he could find and ran his hands over Cullen’s stubbled cheeks. “You haven’t been eating.”

Cullen was silent for a moment as he studied Dorian’s face, then he laughed, long and hard. He leaned forward until his head rested on Dorian’s shoulder. “Oh, Maker. It’s not funny.” He leaned back and wiped his eyes. “I feel like I haven’t been _living_ since you fell. No one could tell me if you would recover, if you would live. And all because I was too frightened to help you. I sat outside your prison and did nothing.” He took Dorian’s hand and traced the lightning scars that ran from his fingertips up his arms. “There aren’t enough words to tell you how much I regret making you stand there and face him, feeling like we’d all let you down. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but know that I am so, so sorry.”

Dorian still didn’t remember much of what happened while standing before Trevelyan’s throne. His memory wasn’t wiped entirely clean by his overuse of magic, but he was left more with impressions than memories. He remembered being afraid, and angry. But he didn’t recall feeling betrayed. 

He pulled his hand away and thought, not for the first time, about having gloves made to hide the scars, something supple and soft, but with a grip for his staff. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It was an impossible situation.” His fingers itched to touch Cullen, but he held himself back. While the display in the hall gave him hope, he felt uncertain. It was harder when it was just the two of them and Dorian couldn’t stop his mind from spinning out every possible outcome of their conversation. “And you sent your parents to watch over me. That was a kindness.”

Cullen seemed to have no similar reservations, smoothing Dorian’s hair as his eyes roamed over Dorian’s face. “Josie and Leliana had too many duties to sit with you all day and I couldn’t bear the thought of you waking alone. I hope,” he swallowed. “I hope that wasn’t too much.”

“Better than waking up to my parents.” He’d have to speak with them, now. Hiding was no longer an option after the show he’d put on. 

“I can’t believe they’re here. I thought you said they wouldn’t come.”

He leaned into Cullen’s touch. “Your surprise is no greater than my own. Unless they’re here in an attempt to drag me home, I can’t imagine what purpose they have.” 

“I can go with you, when you speak with them.” He slid his hands down Dorian’s arms and pulled him close again, but Dorian resisted. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s all very stirring in the heat of the moment, but your armor is quite the barrier.”

Cullen breathed out a laugh even as his hands went to unbuckling and unfastening. Deep grooves pitted the surface of the once shining metal, signs of close combat. Once the plate was removed, he held his hand out. “Better?”

Dorian didn’t want to keep his distance and folded himself into Cullen’s embrace. “Much.” He fit well in Cullen’s arms.

“I miss your beard.”

Dorian laughed into Cullen’s neck. “It was a monstrosity. One of the first things I did was get rid of it. I can’t believe you let people see me like that.”

“It was nice.” The silence swelled around them until all Dorian could hear was the sound of Cullen’s even breaths and the steady beat of his heart. “We have so many things to talk about.”

“We do.” He tried not to tense and break the moment, but his body was still not completely recovered and under his full control. They were there together, Cullen kissed him like he meant it, he sent his parents to watch over him as he slept. But without Trevelyan’s command for marriage, what was it that would keep them together? 

Cullen broke his musing with a kiss. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re parents are likely to be disappointed, though mine will be overjoyed.”

Cullen made an inquisitive sound.

“When we call off the wedding. Easton seemed to think it was still happening, perhaps even looking forward to it.”

“When we call off the wedding?” Cullen took a step back, but kept his hands on Dorian. “Why would we do that?”

He pushed down the bright spark of hope that ignited in his chest. “Cullen. Without the Inquisitor in power, there’s no one to hold us to this farce. You are free to do as you wish.”

“Farce.” Cullen’s hands dropped from Dorian’s arms. “I thought,” he stopped and shook his head. “Of course. Of course. My apologies. I must be keeping you from something.” He wouldn’t meet Dorian’s gaze and fumbled his way to his armor, slinging it up over one shoulder. “I am in need of a bath.”

Cullen was out the door before Dorian could stop him. He felt sick and weak and didn’t understand how things had gone wrong so quickly. He wanted to go after Cullen, it seemed an apology was in order, but he didn’t know for what and stalking the man into the baths was appropriate.

Out in the main hall, Bull was waiting for him, arms crossed over his enormous chest. “I take it the reunion didn’t go as planned?”

He would ask how Bull had known he was going to fuck things up, but there was no need. Bull was adept at predicting the behavior of most people. “I don’t know what I did.”

Bull pushed off the wall and draped an arm over Dorian’s shoulders. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

He let Bull lead him toward the door. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I was hoping for your sake that it’d be a longer wait and you’d come out all disheveled and looking well fucked, but,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d owe you a drink either way. It’s good to see you up and about. I feel bad about the way we left things. Should have fought harder. You fought for me and my boys. You deserved the same from me.”

“There was nothing to be done. It was an impossible situation.” He had a feeling he’d be repeating the phrase with some frequency.

Bull pushed open the door and held it for him. “Clearly not, because we’re all here and the situation has changed.”

Dorian shook his head and let Bull lead to the way to the Herald’s Rest. He didn’t know how to respond. It was one of the most frustrating things about his friendship with Bull. Perhaps it was his training, but he was often able to ask the questions Dorian couldn’t answer, or push his thoughts in a direction that was unexpected. 

Inside, he took a seat near Bull’s regular table while Bull collected drinks from the bar. It was cool inside the tavern, and a little dark, soothing to his aching head. He took the ale that Bull handed him with a grateful nod and downed half the tankard in one go.

“So. What’d you say to the good Commander?”

“I don’t know.” He recounted their talk, omitting some of the more tactile portions and winced as Bull let out a low whistle. “What? Was it bad?” His tankard was empty and he wanted another of the foul brew as soon as possible. It left a bitter taste in his mouth but dulled the sharp spike of pain in his stomach and chest at the thought of Cullen walking away from him. 

“The two of you meeting in the main hall was like a scene out of one of Varric’s books. We all saw it and there’s no denying that was all you. That was not someone standing behind you making you get along. That was real.” He took a sip from his tankard and leaned back in his chair. “Did anyone tell you he was the one that led the mutiny against Trevelyan? He carried you to the healers and then went back and put Trevelyan in his room and just handled the whole thing. And then he sat with you. Took his meetings at your bedside, slept in the chair next to you.” He shrugged. “Seems like those aren’t the actions of a man being forced to do something. And then you saying it was a farce, well, you can see how that’s not going to go over well.”

Dorian ran his hand over his face and closed his eyes. “Why am I like this?”

He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but Bull answered him anyway. “We are the sum of our experiences. And your experiences tell you that people will let you down. They will say they care about you, but when you don’t act as they wish, those people will turn on you. You can’t trust what they say, you can’t trust how they act, you are always waiting for the moment to come when they hurt you. And there’s a part of you that thinks you deserve it, that hurting is part of who you are. That maybe it’s all you are. And the only way to get away from that kind of thinking is practice, and trust and neither one of those things is easy.”

Every word felt like a punch to his chest. He couldn’t breathe by the time Bull was done, could barely keep himself upright. He curled his hands into fists, feeling the bite of his nails against the skin of his palms. “He deserves better.”

“Nah, Cullen’s got his own shit, too. But I don’t think you’re mistaken to put your trust in him.”

He stared at the floor as if it had answers. “And you think he’ll talk to me after this?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s guy’s totally gone on you. I’d put money on him being in his office right now trying to figure out how to fix things. You could go there and see him.”

“What if he sends me away?” As he had every right to do. The more he thought of his words to Cullen, the more surprised he was that Cullen didn’t shout at him before taking off. He’d been thoughtless and cruel.

Bull spread his hands. “If this is what you want, if Cullen is what you want, then that’s a chance you’re going to have to take.”

He stood, surprised that the room didn’t spin. “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need it. Just remember to think before you open that pretty mouth of yours.”

He took the stairs up until he was out on the walls and then walked the short distance to Cullen’s office. The door was without a guard and when he knocked, Cullen’s voice bade him enter. He sounded tired.

“I owe you an apology,” he said as he crossed the threshold. Best to get it out right away before his nerve left him. 

“Dorian.” He half rose from his chair, before the hope in his face was carefully shuttered away and he re-took his seat. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Faced with Cullen’s impassive expression, Dorian’s carefully worded apology escaped him. He crossed the room and fell to his knees beside Cullen’s desk and took his hand. “I’m sorry. I thought to save you from myself, but I’ve only hurt you.”

“I don’t know what you want.” Cullen pushed back from the desk and gained his feet, pacing the length of the room. “One minute you kiss me in front of everyone and the next you call our feelings a farce. What you do want?”

He drew a breath, but didn’t stand. “Wanting is dangerous. If I let myself believe that what is happening between us is just happening, that I had no part to play in it. Because if it was an outside act, not something I desired, it wouldn’t hurt as much when it was taken away.” He drew a breath and tired not to think of the men who went on to marry, the men who looked the other way after a night of passion, of being pulled from the bed of his lover in the middle of the night and dragged to his father’s house. “Except it still hurts to be parted from you and I’m tired of hiding. The whole point of leaving home was so I could stop hiding.” He stood locked his gaze with Cullen’s and it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “I want you. I want this.”

For the longest time Cullen didn’t move. Dorian wasn’t sure he was even breathing. As the seconds ticked on, Dorian felt the pain in his chest return. He was wrong, being denied was worse than pretending not to want. He pushed himself to his feet, the pain in his knees almost welcome. He was ready to turn and leave Cullen’s office when Cullen stopped his pacing in front of Dorian, the anger bled out of his shoulders and a softness to his face that had been missing returned.

“And you’re afraid I don’t feel the same?”

Dorian couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to hide. “I don’t want to be alone in this.” Too much time spent alone, surrounded by people, hours of his day filled with people, sharing space and meals and tents on the road, but so very much on the outside. His whole life on the outside.

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I want this.” He took Dorian’s hand and ran his fingers over the ring made from his sword. “I didn’t make this and give it to you on a whim. Trevelyan stopped being the reason I wanted to spend time with you a long time ago.” He swallowed hard. “I thought you would never wake, I thought I’d lost my chance to tell you how much you mean to me and the last thing you’d know of us was my inability to do anything to help you.” He dropped his hand and clenched it at his side. “I can’t make up for that, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, if you’ll let me.”

“Cullen,” he sighed, wishing Cullen would put his hands back on him. “There’s nothing to make up for.” He tried to imagine even a month of the imbalance, Cullen fetching and primping and minding him all in an attempt to soothe an imagined slight. “We all felt powerless against Trevelyan.” He’d wrapped them all into believing the only way to save Thedas was to do exactly as he wanted. It seemed impossible, in retrospect, that he’d led so many of them down the same path, but he was charismatic and in possession of the only means of closing rifts. “And I don’t want this if it’s just some misguided sense of guilt or duty.”

Cullen’s fists relaxed open. “You could never be an obligation.” He stepped closer until Dorian could feel the heat of his body and the warm puff of air at each breath. “I love you.”

Dorian took a step back and shook his head. “You can’t. We haven’t even had sex.” Declarations of love were for after sex, after Dorian was able to prove there was at least one thing at which he excelled without fault.

“I do.” Cullen didn’t follow him, but his expression was fond and his voice stayed calm and warm. “I love you. You don’t have to say it back, it’s not an obligation. It’s a gift. I love you. I want to be with you. We don’t have to get married, if that’s not what you want, but I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. So,” he drew a breath. “That’s what I want.”

Dorian wanted that, as well. He wanted to close the distance between them and wrap Cullen in his arms. He wanted it all. But he couldn’t take the step, his feet felt frozen to the ground. “I, can I have some time to think?” It felt like betrayal, and he could see the disappointment in Cullen’s eyes, even as he nodded.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll wait for you.”

Dorian nodded and fairly ran from Cullen’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter. This chapter was both hard to write and terrible and it's frankly unfair that it's both of those things at the same time. I've been fighting with it for ages and meant to have it up days ago.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, you're all lovely. Every last one of you.


	10. Chapter 10

He expected, given the state of his day, to run into his parents on his way back to his room. But the courtyard was thankfully empty and the halls filled with no one interested in stopping him. The memory of Cullen’s touch lingered on his skin, the echo of his words _I love you_ rolled through his thoughts. He didn’t know what to do with that, with Cullen’s earnestness, with his desire to be married. It had been just weeks before that Trevelyan had announced his plan to bind the two of them. Well, months, Dorian supposed, considering his lost time. But it was time Dorian hadn’t been in control of and hadn’t been able to spend with Cullen.

How strange, to go from nothing but the desire to see Cullen and touch him and want him back at Skyhold to needing space from him. _I love you_ Cullen’s soft tones rolled through his thoughts, steady and continuous. He could feel the man’s presence at his back, up in his tower, steady, so steady and still Dorian didn’t know how to answer or what to think. It was tempting to go back to Bull, who understood Dorian so well. But he’d had enough of other people telling him what he thought and felt. He needed the time to figure it out on his own. 

He opened the door to his room and found Trevelyan seated at his desk, waiting.

He felt sick at the sight of him, and back toward the hallway. “I thought you were under guard.” If he needed distance from Cullen of all people, the last person he wanted in his personal, private space was Trevelyan. He had expected to be able to arrange his time so that he would never have to be alone with Trevelyan ever again.

“I’ve been exceptionally good during my captivity. We can go somewhere public if you’re worried.” He said it like a challenge, but Dorian wasn’t so casual with his safety that he didn’t consider it. 

Bad enough that Trevelyan was in his room, he didn’t want the memory of their conversation to linger in the place he had to sleep. “That would be best. The garden?”

A flash of surprise crossed Trevelyan’s face before he pushed himself up. “By all means.”

Dorian held the door and let Trevelyan lead the way, more comfortable with his eyes on him at all times. Having Trevelayn at his back felt like the worst kind of idea. They didn’t speak as they moved through the halls, Trevelyan with his eyes straight ahead and Dorian a good five paces behind him. They passed Varric, who raised an eyebrow and shifted his hand closer to Bianca, but Dorian shook his head. It wasn’t that Trevelyan didn’t feel dangerous, it was that he was aware of his position and harming Dorian in plain sight would put what little grace he had in danger. 

They settle on a bench in the sun and Dorian has no idea what to say. He didn’t particularly want to say anything at all. Instead, he stared at the ground, the fragile shoots of new grass growing up out of the soil and waited, counting seconds and imagining that he might have been able to avoid all of this unpleasantness if he’d only stayed with Cullen instead of running like a frightened rabbit.

“I’ve been told I owe you an apology.” He didn’t sound sorry.

“I don’t want your apology.” What he wanted was to dream without the memory of the collar infecting his thoughts. He wanted to spend a night without the terror of Tranquility spreading through him like oil. With so many things very much out of his control, he wanted to feel like his life was under his own direction. There was nothing Trevelyan could give him. 

Trevelyan grunted, shifted, but Dorian still didn’t look at him. “That’s best, then. I’m not sorry. They may have neutered my power, made me a puppet, but I was right. And given the chance, I’d do it again.”

He stared at the fine scars on his hands and breathed through his desire to strike Trevelyan. It had been years since he started a physical fight with someone, and he found he liked the idea of Trevelyan’s bloodied lip, quite a bit. “Is that all? You wanted to talk to me to tell me you’re not sorry?”

“We were friends, once.” 

Dorian couldn’t tell if the regret in Trevelyan’s voice was genuine. “Were we?” He stood and spared him a glance. “Keep your distance from my parents while they’re in attendance if you want to keep your secret. Mother can smell a scandal at one hundred paces.” He wanted to say something more, something about how they shouldn’t speak unless it was for Inquisition business, but he’d run out of words and patience for Trevelyan. 

He took the long way back to his room, to avoid friendly faces and the possibility of being stopped again. Once the door was closed to the world, he lit the fire in the hearth and tried to ignore the lingering smell of Trevelyan near his things. Instead, he stretched out on his bed, arms beneath his head and considered Cullen.

Cullen said he loved Dorian. His actions seemed to indicate it was true, but Dorian didn’t really believe him. People said all manner of things that weren’t true, acted in ways that weren’t true to get what they wanted. Most of Dorian’s life had been spent trying to weasel out hidden motives while keeping his own private at the same time. That Cullen hadn’t been part of that life didn’t mean that he wasn’t lying.

Only, only, what did Cullen want if he was lying? 

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. _I love you_ He hadn’t sounded like he was lying. When he touched Dorian, it didn’t feel like a lie. His actions showed his care—he took down Trevelyan, he brought his parents to watch over Dorian, he kissed Dorian like it mattered. He’d made a bad situation into something was good, something Dorian had almost been looking forward to.

So. What did it mean that Dorian still couldn’t trust it? 

How he wished Felix was with him. Bull might be able to read him with ease, but Felix understood him. Knew what it was like to grow up in Tevinter, with Halward and Aquinea as parents, with the expectations and demands placed on him. He’d seen Dorian at his youngest and most petty, his most arrogant. Perhaps, once the mess with Corypheus was complete, he could use some of the Inquisition’s resources to bring Felix to Skyhold. 

Cullen wasn’t what he expected to find when he came south. His usual type ran more toward men like Barris and Rylen. But then, his usual type often had no time for him outside a bedroom or an empty storage room. And none of them, not a single one, would have risked the display Cullen put on in front of the inner circle and Dorian’s own parents.

_I love you_

But what did that mean?

It wasn’t a question he knew how to answer, no matter how he turned it and prodded at it. Probably, Cullen could have had some information for him, but he wasn’t ready to see him. Not when Dorian didn’t know how to answer that kind of declaration. 

Hours later, he was no closer to understanding how he felt. There was a knock on his door and Thalia peaked her head in. “Evening, dear. Are you hungry?”

Suddenly shy around a woman who had been at his side almost constantly, Dorian nodded. “I thought you’d be with Cullen.” He was proud he didn’t stutter over the name.

“He’s in a meeting. Come on, the walk will do you good.”

Dorian pushed himself up, regretting he hadn’t had time for a nap in the afternoon. Though he was recovering well, he still needed more sleep than he’d ever had in his life and he was feeling the lack in the drag of his steps. “You have a strange sense of aiding recovery.”

She slipped her arm through his. “No one ever got better lazing around feeling sorry for themselves. Best to be up and moving, building your strength again.” She led him through the keep down to the Herald’s Rest where they took a table away from the noise of the bar. There was stew on, unsurprisingly. It was more of a surprise that Thalia let him eat it; she’d been so strict about his food.

He managed about half a bowl before he started to feel queasy, so he pushed it aside. “Now that Cullen is back, do you think you’ll be off?” He was surprised to find the thought upset him. Thalia and Easton had been such a steady presence since he woke, there was a part of him that wanted them to stay, even as he knew it was impossible. They had responsibilities.

“We thought we’d stay for a little while yet. Until things calm down, at least.”

Dorian laughed. “If you wait for that, you’re likely to never leave. Calm isn’t really what we do.”

She waved a hand. “Until you’re more settled, then. How about that?”

He looked away, unable to hold her gaze. “That might be just as long a wait. In any event, I’m a little old to be parented.” 

“What’s troubling you?”

Dorian didn’t speak, didn’t think he could speak, but Thalia didn’t pressure him, just sat waiting for him to find his words. “He told me he loves me.”

“And that’s not a good thing?” There was no judgment in her voice, or exasperation. Just honest questioning.

“It’s not real. Trevelyan ordered us to marry.” He hesitated, but there was no surprise in her face, perhaps Easton told her, maybe she came to the conclusion on her own. “None of it is real.”

She pushed aside her empty bowl and leaned her elbows on the table. “My father was not a good man. He was violent and careless. He told us he loved us and in the next breath would beat us bloody. When he arranged my marriage to Easton, I thought I would find the same kind of man. I couldn’t trust him not to snap. I spent years in fear, worrying that any mistake I made was going to be the one that changed him. But Easton was patient and I learned how not to live in fear.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “It’s a hard thing, learning not to be afraid.”

It was too close, too much. He leaned back with an expressive laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m one of the most powerful mages of my generation.”

She didn’t let him put her off, though. “I don’t doubt it. Doesn’t mean you’re not afraid of being hurt.

“What do I do?”

“That’s up to you. I’d say give it a chance, but then I like seeing my boy happy and you make him happy. It’s hard to trust, but it only ever gets easier if you practice.”

He made a thoughtful sound to let he know he was listening, even if he wasn’t ready to answer. It wasn’t the kind of answer to give to her no matter what he chose. She would know by his action, or inaction.

“I met your parents this afternoon.”

Dorian jerked his head up to look at her. “You did?”

She hummed. “They were wandering the garden. Terrible manners the both of them.”

His first instinct was to apologize, which he did, then added, “I did warn you they’d be unpleasant.”

“Do you plan to see them?”

He had hoped to avoid them altogether, but he imagined it would be impossible since his display with Cullen. How infuriating that even after all they’d done and said he still ached for something from them, some sign that he wasn’t a complete failure in their eyes. He wouldn’t get it, they would deny him again and again and he’d still come back with the hope of something better. He’d crossing kingdoms to keep it from happening and they found their way to him anyway. “It seems inevitable.”

“Would you like someone to be with you?”

He almost laughed at the image, hiding behind Thalia’s skirts and he tried to convince Halward and Aquinea that he was a grown man. “Best not. But thank you.” He drew a breath. “Thank you.” He couldn’t remember the last time someone offered to stand with him against his parents. Felix, perhaps, when Dorian was so young and scared at being caught out in the circle with another apprentice, he had considered running away. Fourteen and terrified of what they would say when he went back on his promise to keep his deviations to himself. The very thought of their anger and disappointment was enough for him to pack a bag and collect his coin. Only Felix’s persistent support kept him from running that summer. Maybe it would have been a better act of kindness to have let him go. 

Despite the knowledge that the meeting was inevitable, he wasn’t ready to face them so soon, so he sat with Thalia though a change in shift in the tavern as soldiers and a fair number of familiar faces came in for dinner. Their conversation flowed, Dorian sharing stories of what it was like to grow up in Tevinter, the things he missed about his home while Thalia ranged in her topics from family to farm and a handful of tales about Cullen’s younger days. 

He felt full and buoyed by her good spirits by the time he left to track down his parents. Josephine was in her office, still working despite the hour and directed him to the room she’d arranged for them. Before he could leave, she settled a hand on his arm. 

“You mentioned they would be less than pleased. They’ve been quite difficult during their short stay. I’ve scheduled them to be escorted out of the fortress in the morning. There’s no need for you to see them. I can take care of it myself, if you’d like.” She’d been delicate with him since he woke, as if Dorian were about to shatter at a loud noise. “I’d be happy to do it for you.”

He shook his head and patted her hand. “No, best I deal with them.”

“Dorian,” hesitant again.

“It’s really not a problem. I’ve been dealing with them my whole life. One more day isn’t going to hurt.”

She gave him faint smile. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since you woke. I didn’t want to overtire you during your recovery, but I cannot let this linger between us.”

“Have I done something to upset you, Lady Montilyet?” He didn’t remember much of his interactions with her before his sentencing, but he supposed it was possible.

She placed at hand at her throat and looked down. “Oh, no! It is not you who caused the hurt. When the Inquisitor told me of your marriage to Cullen, I didn’t question it. I saw how the two of you were with each other, cautious and angry, and thought you were upset at the spectacle, not that he was forcing it on you. I would never,” she drew in a breath, and met his gaze. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have been so eager to help him. You have my deepest apologies.”

Dorian was well and truly done with people apologizing to him who hadn’t been the cause of his hurts. So many of the Inquisition were ready to take on blame for not acting sooner or noticing what Dorian had done his best to keep secret. “Ah, well. Think nothing of it. We were all lost in our own troubles.” He executed a short bow and backed away, uncomfortable with any more show of genuine emotion between them. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an uncomfortable conversation to see to.”

It was a short walk from Josephine’s office to the room set aside for his parents, but Dorian made the most of it. Still, Skyhold wasn’t large and there were only so many times he could stop to admire a bit of architecture before he started to collect strange looks from passing soldiers. He was being ridiculous, avoiding his parents like he was still a child or young man dependent on them to maintain his lifestyle. There’d been a time when he thought he wouldn’t have been able to survive without their support and money and connections. But he’d managed well enough for himself. He wasn’t living in the manner of his childhood, but he wasn’t starving.

And more importantly than that, he was something approaching happy. Maybe. If he let himself.

He knocked on the door to their suite and swept in before they could answer. “Mother, Father. You’re looking well.” They were not. They’d aged since he’d seen them and having to spend time in each other’s company had set permanents lines of frustration to their faces. Dorian doubted they’d spent so much time in close proximity in thirty years.

“Stand up straight,” Aquinea said in greeting and it was all he could do not to instinctively follow her command. “The south has done nothing for your manners, I see.”

“I do so love these warm family reunions.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back. “It’s such a shame you can’t stay.”

Halward grabbed up a sheet of paper from a nearby table and held it aloft. “I thought, when we received this, that it was a prank. A childish gesture to upset us. And then I heard from my contacts abroad that others started receiving the invitations as well. The Archon himself called on me to ask about it. Do you know what it does to our position to be called in front of the Archon to answer for this?” He shook his head at Dorian, a gesture reminiscent of his childhood when Dorian had done something particularly disappointing. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“An understanding?” Dorian cocked his head to the side and pushed back the anger that was beginning to boil in his gut. “What did you think we understood, Father?”

Halward clutched the invitation in his hand. “That you would continue this, this dalliance with the south, I would forgive you your indiscretions and then you would return to your rightful place. If you go through with this, with this perversion, you can never come home.”

Dorian recalled the conversation he had with Halward, the one Trevelyan pushed on him and never once were those words said. “I believe you heard what you wanted to hear. I never said a word about returning to Tevinter, and I never said I wanted your forgiveness.” He wanted Halward’s apology, not to make one of his own. He was done apologizing for who he was. Living in the south, in Skyhold for years had been like a revelation. A painful, terrifying revelation. “Where is the man who wanted to regain his son’s trust? Or the one who just wanted to hear his son’s voice?”

“Don’t be tiresome, dear.” Aquinea, glass in hand, was more strained than she was attempting to appear. “That Ferelden brute isn’t worth losing your inheritance or throwing the house into chaos. Your father and I did what was expected of us, even if we would have chosen differently. You can do the same.”

He stared at them, Aquinea halfway through her second bottle of wine, Halward, rigid with indignation. They were such terribly unhappy people. “I’m sorry you’ve come such a long way just to be disappointed. Though, given our histories, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. The Inquisitor is kind enough to let you stay through to morning and then you’re to be on your way.”

Aquinea took a sip. “There’s something not quite right with the Inquisitor.”

He stayed still, betrayed nothing to her discerning gaze. “If there is, that’s no concern of yours. I’ll be at the gates to see you off in the morning, I’ll be staying here with my Ferelden brute.”

“Why,” Halward sounded so anguished, so distraught. He didn’t understand and Dorian imagined that he probably never would. 

But Dorian did, finally, and it felt like a relief. “Because he loves me. _He loves me._ ” And it was enough. He’d been foolish to fight against it when the alternative was standing before him, rigid and miserable.

“This is your fault.” Aquinea set aside her glass, addressing Halward. “You coddled him. You encouraged this stubbornness.” She turned to Dorian. “It’s disgraceful that it’s come to this.” She sighed and in the next breath, his mother’s powerful magic flowed through the room. An accomplished student of the healing arts, her Mind Blast was nothing to dismiss. Just three years before, it would have put him on the ground in a moment. But he’d been living and fighting with the Inquisition and he had a barrier up before she completed the spell and was out of the door before either of them could cast another. 

He put a barrier over the door and shouted for a soldier. “Templars, get me any Templar in Skyhold.” He could feel his father’s magic building behind the door. Dorian’s barrier was holding, but he couldn’t keep it up indefinitely. The windows in the guest suites were small and if they wanted out of the room, they’d have to come through the door. He could hold them, but the two of them working together would eventually wear him down.

He cast another barrier over the first and felt the floor shake with the force of Halward’s magic. Twice more he cast before grabbing a bottle of lyrium and downing it, letting it fall from his fingers to crash on the stone floor. Finally, finally, Cullen came charging through the corridor, another Templar at his heels. 

“You have to cut them off. I can put barriers around you, but you’ll have to do it quickly.”

Cullen nodded, one hand on his sword. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Dorain cast barriers on Cullen and the Templar, dropped the one over the door and kicked it in. The room was in shambles from their efforts, bedding torn, furniture broken. The tiles of the floor were cracked. “Now,” he shouted, wanting it over before they could do more damage. 

Twin Smites hit Halward and Aquinea and the chaos in the room stopped. Halward crashed to his knees as if someone had kicked his feet out from under him. Aquinea stayed on her feet, though she looked like she might be sick. 

Dorian thought he might be as well. He let the barriers fall, shaking a little. It was the most magic he’d used since waking, the most since overloading himself and scaring his hands and arms. 

Cullen caught his arm in support as the Templar went about securing the room. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Everything felt strangely fluid, Cullen’s point of contact was the only thing that felt stable. “I think—“ a bright flare of pain at his temple and he stumbled. A crash and he looked down to see the shattered remains of a wine bottle at his feet, drops of bright blood among the shards.

Aquinea picked up another wine bottle to throw before Cullen reached her and wrenched it from her grip. “You terrible child. I didn’t give up everything for you to fuck off to this wretched place. You owe us your obedience.” She fought against Cullen’s hold, ignoring him as if she was held by an invisible force instead of his arms.

Dorian backed his way out of the room into the hall. More of Cullen’s soldiers raced in. He could hear Cullen directing them, organizing and ordering the scene. He closed his eyes.

“You’re bleeding.” Cullen was right there, a gentle hand on his elbow, the other holding a handkerchief to Dorian’s temple. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Dorian let Cullen lead him away. He could hear his mother with Cullen’s soldiers, demanding, arguing. It clung to him even as they moved out of her range. Cullen’s steady grip was a boon, but it wasn’t enough to clear the memory from his mind. He didn’t watch where Cullen took him, relying on Cullen’s good judgement to lead him somewhere safe. There were stairs involved, which were surprisingly taxing, and then Cullen was pushing open a door and leading him to sit on a bed. His own bed. 

“Let me see,” he took the handkerchief away from Dorian’s temple and hissed in sympathy. “Hold it there while I get some things.”

With nothing to keep him upright, Dorian dropped back on the bed, where he could stare at the ceiling. There was anger bubbling just below his chest and behind that surprise. The grief welling within him was unexpected. But mostly he was tired. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a week when it would all be dealt with and he wouldn’t have to think anymore.

“Here we are.” Instead of making him sit, Cullen knelt up on the bed and dabbed at his face with a damp cloth. He was close and golden and so very, very handsome. When he was done cleaning, he pressed a clean cloth to the wound and stroked Dorian’s face. “Let me see your eyes.” Cullen leaned in close until he was all Dorian could see. “I think you’re all right.”

“I’m not all right.” He should have known better. He should have known that they wouldn’t travel so far without a plan to take him back against his will. Only he wasn’t a child, so easily taken by enemies of his father, he wasn’t a young man ripped from the arms of his lover in the middle of the night. He wasn’t at all what they thought he was.

Cullen stroked his face again. “What can I do?”

“Send them away.”

He drew a breath. “There should be a trial, people need to know that you can’t come to our house and hurt our people.”

“I don’t want them here. They won’t try again. The element of surprise is lost to them and they know now that I’m stronger than they are, even together.” It was a strange thought. Halward and Aquinea had been the measure by which Dorian gauged his talents. They were the most powerful mages he knew inside of Tevinter. And he’d been able to hold them both off during a confrontation. It was a humiliation they wouldn’t soon wish to repeat.

Cullen ran his hand down Dorian’s arm to his hand and lifted it to his mouth to press a light kiss at Dorian’s fingers. “Will you be all right if I leave for a few moments? I’ll organize their departure and return as soon as I can.”

“I’m not fragile, Cullen.” He didn’t mean to inject the anger into his voice, it just came out. He winced and turned his face away. “Sorry.”

Cullen kissed his hand again. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He must have fallen into a doze, because the sound of the door opening jerked him awake. He sat up fast enough that he was dizzy, but still called fire to his fingertips against the intruder. His vision cleared to Cullen standing just inside the door, his hands empty and raised. 

“It’s just me.”

Dorian let the fire die. “Sorry.”

Cullen let his hands drop and then crossed the room. “No need to apologize. I’ve taken care of your parents. They’re off with their retinue, I saw them through the gate myself.”

He nodded, because it seemed like the thing to do, when really he was more interested in sorting things out with Cullen. Cullen, who ran when he called, and who did as he asked when it was clear he would have rather had a trial. “I need to call off the engagement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow, this chapter was so hard to write. I'm so sorry about the delay in getting this to you, but the last chapter should be up next Monday at the regularly scheduled time. Thanks so much sticking with me, and being so patient during the long break. You are the best!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, finally. The end of this was just a bear to get through. I don't know if it was because it's the end and I'm not always great at ending things, or what. Thank you so much for your patience and encouragement over the course of this fic, it's been lovely.
> 
> Also, please not the adjusted rating. Let's be honest. That's really what took so long. I wrote myself into a sex corner and then had to deal.
> 
> I am criminally behind on responses to comments and I'm so, so sorry. I'll be working to get back to you asap. Snow days should be good for something, right?

“What?” Cullen’s smile dropped off his face and he took a step back. “Why?” His hands balled into fists. “I thought, I thought you felt,” he shook his head and tried to turn away, but Dorian caught his hand before he could leave.

“Not like that.” He squeezed Cullen’s fingers, warm and solid, just like Cullen. “I didn’t mean it that way.” It seemed he was destined to speak before he thought for the rest of his life. “Will you listen?”

“Of course,” but he sounded resigned, not pleased.

Dorian led Cullen farther into the room, sitting him in the chair and kneeling before him. There were dark shadows under Cullen’s eyes. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes were more pronounced. His rough stubble was closer to a full beard from neglect. Dorian kissed Cullen’s fingers, still gripped in his hand, wishing he had a way to erase the weariness. “When we entered into this agreement, it was to appease Trevelyan. I was afraid and you were being kind.” 

“That’s not fair.”

Dorian pressed a kiss to Cullen’s wrist. “Perhaps, but it’s also true. What we discovered along the way, how I feel for you now is something we built together and came to despite Trevelyan’s interference. I want whatever future we can built to be based on something we’ve decided instead of what was forced on us. I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t marry you like this.” He swallowed hard and looked away. Saying it out loud made it real. It also made it possible for Cullen to say no. It sounded so sensible in his own thoughts. Faced with Cullen’s handsome face, it felt like less of a steady plan. “Can you understand?”

The silence was all encompassing. Dorian was terrified to see relief or scorn or pity on Cullen’s face. He kept his gaze focused on the far wall where there was nothing to hurt him there.

“Oh, love,” Cullen sighed as he took his hand back. Instead of pulling away, though, he slid his hands on their side of Dorian’s face and pulled him close. “I told you. However I can have you is what I want. That doesn’t change because our circumstances have changed.” He chuckled. “You gave me a scare, there, for a moment.” He kissed him and it was the only thing that felt right the whole day. “There’s no need to rush a wedding. No need to marry at all, if that’s what you want.” He brushed his thumbs over Dorian’s cheekbones. “I’ll be honest and say that I want that. I want to be bound to you, but not until you’re ready. And if it takes the next fifty years for you to be ready, I can wait.”

He tried to imagine the space of fifty years, Cullen’s golden hair gone to gray, his fine lines turned deep and pronounced. Morning aches and pains, bodies mapped to complete knowledge, a life lived to fill in all their dark corners. It was beautiful and he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. 

He drew in a breath to keep his tears in check. “Maybe not fifty years, but at least until Corypheus is dealt with.” Even then, with the catastrophe of his parents and his longing for Cullen, the specter of their enemy was a constant source of dread eating at the back of his mind. The fate of the world was a profound burden, and one he couldn’t put aside.

“No more running?” Gentle, always so gentle with him now. As if Dorian were prone to breaking, instead of bending in the wind. 

Dorian turned his head and kissed Cullen’s thumb. “No more running.” He leaned in for another kiss, but was interrupted by his own yawn, jaw cracking under the strength of it. He turned away in embarrassment.

Cullen stood and helped him to his feet. “It’s been a long day. I should leave you to rest.” But his arm was looped around Dorian’s waist and the heat of him, Maker, the man was warmer than a hearth. 

“Perhaps,” he stopped, unsure how to ask or even if it was appropriate. Why was it so hard to ask for what he wanted? Perhaps it was because it meant more with Cullen. “It has been a long day, but I’m not ready to be parted from you.” He turned to face Cullen. Their bodies close enough that Dorian could feel the heat of him from his boots to his collarbone. “Would you stay?”

“Yes. Yes, please.” Cullen pulled Dorian close and buried his face in Dorian’s neck. “I hoped. I would have given you your space if you’d wished, but I didn’t want to be parted from you.” 

His soft, whispered words sent chills along Dorian’s spine and he pushed into Cullen’s embrace. “I’ve missed you. I know it was longer for you. But I’ve missed you.”

Cullen tightened his embrace, just on the side of painful. “I still can’t believe that you’re here. I thought you’d never wake up.” He kissed at Dorian’s neck, slow, sucking kisses that left Dorian breathless. He took a few steps back until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he felt a sudden and intensely unfamiliar flash of self-consciousness. His body had always been his best attribute, his selling point to his potential partners. He was beautiful and he knew it, knew best how to craft and care for his image so that he was an object of desire. 

But his months of illness had left him missing muscle tone. His bones were pressed more tightly against his skin than was attractive to his own eyes. And then there were the scars. He pulled back. “Before we continue. You should know I am not how you remember me.” He swallowed and looked away. 

He expected Cullen to demur, to brush aside his concerns. He _hoped_ that Cullen tell him it didn’t matter. Instead, Cullen grasped Dorian’s hands and held them up to the light. He traced the scars with his fingers and his eyes, he ran his thumb along the sharp edge of Dorian’s jaw, touching the places that had changed with thoughtful contemplation. “If you think the only thing I love is the way look and not who you are, well,” he shrugged, a sly little grin lighting his face. “Get it together, Pavus. 

He was no stranger to an appreciative gaze, most if not all of his partners looked at him on lust. But Cullen’s gaze was reverent. His eyes dark with wonderment. There was desire, yes, but there was something more, so focused, so intense, Dorian couldn’t bear it and he had to turn away. 

Cullen, whether he understood or was simply being kind, didn’t press him. Instead, he worked off Dorian’s clothes and then his own, the process thrilling in its efficiency. He stepped into Dorian’s space, close enough that their chests brushed with each breath and the damp head of Cullen’s cock brushed against his belly. 

With Cullen’s body so close, the last of his lingering self-consciousness faded. He might be in new emotional territory, but warm skin, the give of muscle and flesh, those were areas in which Dorian was a master. Discovering how their bodies would work together was a challenge and a joy, not something to pull away from.

He dove into Cullen’s mouth, desperate for contact. With one hand, he swept down from Cullen’s shoulder all the way down the plane of his back to rest at his waist, while he slid the other around to rest on the pleasant curve of Cullen’s ass. Cullen jerked pleasantly at the touch, gasping into Dorian’s mouth and pressed them closer together. 

He wanted nothing more than to be twined with Cullen, but standing was soon going to be difficult. Cullen’s hands were restless and wicked as they crawled over Dorian’s sides and back, stroking, soothing, pinching. He drew in a steadying breath and stepped away, to the side, and reversed their positions and before Cullen could protest, crowded Cullen onto the bed where he could settle between his spread legs. 

“Put your hands in my hair.”

Cullen’s fingers trembled the slightest bit as he slid them through Dorian’s hair. The light weight and steadying pressure made Dorian’s whole body light up and he couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him when he leaned in to breathe in the scent of Cullen. He pressed his face against the well of his hip, the crease of his thigh and felt the hot weight of Cullen’s cock against the side of his face. Cullen moaned at the contact and it rumbled through his whole body.

“Impatient.” Dorian leaned back, grinning and pleased as Cullen’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“I’ve waited a long time for you.”

Dorian ran his hands up Cullen’s thighs to rest on either side of his cock, his thumbs rubbing through the dense hair and just catching at the edge of Cullen’s full flesh. “Did you dream of me?”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse and cracked.

“Did you touch yourself thinking about me?”

Cullen flushed but didn’t look away. “Yes.” 

“Well, then. All that waiting should be rewarded, don’t you think?”

“Please, Dorian.”

How could he deny such a sweet request? He leaned in, reveling in Cullen’s broken whine, and took the head into his mouth. Cullen’s hands tightened convulsively in Dorian’s hair before he eased the grip with a sound that was as much Dorian’s name as it was a gasp of air.

He held the head of Cullen’s cock in his mouth for just a moment, the thick taste of him lingering on Dorian’s tongue, a taste that felt like it would stay with him forever. He worked the head, laving in broad, firm circles before pausing to catch Cullen’s eye. It was a bit of an awkward angle, but once Cullen was watching, Dorian slid one hand along the length of him and followed with his mouth, swallowing and swallowing until the head of Cullen’s cock nudged the back of his throat and his own nose was pressed against Cullen’s pelvis.

Only Dorian’s firm grip on Cullen’s thighs kept him from bucking right off the bed and hurting them both. He sucked hard, ignoring the ache in his jaw and the fullness in his throat. Cullen was close and Dorian wanted him to come, wanted him to abandon all thoughts of propriety and care and come down Dorian’s throat. They had plenty of time for soft and gentle and lingering. Dorian was desperate to taste Cullen’s flood.

He pulled back, throat raw and jaw aching, and hushed Cullen’s desperate whimpers. He grabbed a vial of oil from his bedside table and returned to his work, taking Cullen deep. Cullen’s moans changed to half formed sentences, as he talked to and encouraged Dorian through his pleasure. His voice broke when Dorian slid the first finger into him, his words falling into a pattern of Dorian’s name and pleas. As Dorian breached him with a second finger, Cullen bucked off the bed, his balls tightening and came down Dorian’s throat with a cry that sounded like it had been torn from him. 

Dorian eased him through it, kept him in his mouth as he thrust lazily with his fingers until Cullen was loose limbed and boneless, the fingers in Dorian’s hair hardly more than a touch. He pulled back, satisfied. “You can let go now.”

Cullen collapsed back on the bed, his hands dead weight next to him on the mattress. Dorian worked another finger inside. The tight heat, slick with oil, welcoming after Cullen’s release, made Dorian moan as he leaned in.

“You are so,” he broke off with a growl and bit the inside of Cullen’s thigh. Cullen moaned and jerked, clenching around Dorian’s fingers. “How are you so good?”

Cullen had no answer for him. His hand, weak and uncoordinated fumbled at Dorian’s shoulder as he tried to draw them closer. He shifted his hips and tried to rush Dorian’s slow, steady pace.

“Hush. I’ll take care of you.” He kissed over the red mark of the bite. “I’ll take such good care of you.” He removed his fingers and spread Cullen’s legs wider, as wide as he could stretch them until he was completely exposed to Dorian’s view. Cullen was pliant and glowing under Dorian’s touch, but his gaze was hungry. When Dorian shifted to settle in between his legs, Cullen reached up and drew them together with surprising strength. 

“Now, please.”

Dorian slid in, one long smooth slide as Cullen clutched at him, his muscles clenching around him until there was nothing but sensation. Tight heat, sweat slick skin, the rounded pressure of Cullen’s fingers digging into his biceps. Cullen’s breath against his throat. Cullen’s scent crashing through him. Cullen, Cullen, Cullen.

He had little memory of finishing, only the impression of Cullen all around him. His own release was so overwhelming he lost track of time and sight. He was aware of Cullen and that was enough. When he came back to himself, he was cradled against Cullen’s chest. 

“Hello, love.” Cullen’s voice was soft as he threaded his fingers through Dorian’s hair.

Dorian couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face at the name. “Hello.”

“I can’t decide if it’s a shame we waited so long for this, or if it’s so good because we waited so long.” Cullen stretched, languid, every inch of his body language screaming self-satisfaction. 

“Perhaps it’s the sort of thing that requires multiple studies.” His voice was light, but the words flittered through him with a spark of unease. It wasn’t just the sex—he’d had excellent sex before—it was everything that surrounded the sex with Cullen that he longed for. The quiet moments, the anticipation, the room smelling of them. Knowing there would be more in an hour or a day or a year.

And it was hard not to think of the looming end date. Of a time when Cullen would grow weary of him, of a time when the things he now admired would turn to irritation and then derision. But Cullen had promised, he had waited and he had showed Dorian in a dozen ways that he could be trusted. So maybe it was time he started meeting him half way. “We’ll have to see,” he said, pulling Cullen to him, tucking them together and settling in for sleep. 

Cullen dropped off quickly and Dorian stayed awake, soothing his hands over Cullen’s arms and belly, kissing his shoulder and neck, whispering promises he wasn’t quite ready for in the daylight.

They fit so well together in so many ways, falling asleep pressed up against Cullen’s back, Dorian’s arm around his waist was the most comfortable, most content he ever remembered feeling. That was, until he discovered Cullen twitched in his sleep, restless hands and legs. He talked, mostly nonsense, but some full formed sentences. 

When he confronted Cullen with his terrible habits in the morning, Cullen smiled at him, sleepy and soft. “You snore.”

Dorian jerked back. “Don’t try to deflect your awful bed manners with vicious lies. I do not snore.”

Cullen reached out and poked his nose, gently. “I don’t know how you thought you wouldn’t.” He softened his words with a kiss. “It’s cute.”

Dorian wanted to be offended, but Cullen was there, in his bed, and it was all he’d been wanting for what felt like forever. “Yes, well, you kick and that is not cute.”

“You like it,” Cullen grinned, throwing an arm over his waist and dragging Dorian in close. “You like me.”

There was the temptation to make light, to brush off the comment, to push Cullen away and continue their play, but it wasn’t very strong. And, he found, he wanted to tell the truth. “I do.”

They came together again, this time in the bright light of the morning sun. It burnished Cullen’s golden hair and filled the room with warmth. They took their time, mapping skin and scars, layering kisses over flesh. The urgency was still there, the desire bright and almost painful, but not so desperate. 

Afterward, as they rested together, twined and sated, Dorian thought he could start to see the shape of something like the future, a future that was bright and warm and filled with lingering kisses. 

*

They settled into a pattern over the next several days. Cullen spent the daylight hours planning their defenses and developing battle plans. Dorian busied himself with Solas and Vivienne to search for any kind of magic that would give them an advantage over Corypheus. After his defeat in the Arbor Wilds and the loss of the Well of Sorrows, he was weakened, but they knew he was coming.

Once night fell, though, thoughts of the Inquisition and Corypheus fell away as they retired to Dorian’s room. They finished correspondence and reading by the firelight and then fell into bed together, learning the planes of each other’s bodies, the sounds that meant the other was close to release, the kinds of touches that brought the most pleasure.

Cullen, he found, was surprisingly pliable in bed. “Obeying orders is a bit,” he blushed, bright and pretty where he was stretched out on Dorian’s bed, naked and hard. “Instinctual at this point.”

“Aren’t you a delight?” Dorian leaned in and nipped at Cullen’s throat, just to feel him shiver. “Hands above your head. If you don’t move them, I’ll give you a reward.”

Cullen did as he was bid, his breathing high and face flushed with embarrassment and excitement.

“And shall I command you to service me?” he asked, not at all serious until he saw Cullen swallow hard, the flush blooming in his throat and chest.

He cupped Cullen’s face. “Another time, perhaps, when we’ve had a chance to talk.” The idea had appeal, but not without boundaries and precautions, established outside the heat of the moment. “Now, keep your hands still, and if you don’t move, I’ll let you come on my face.”

*

As their own personal relationship expanded, it seemed that life within the Inquisition narrowed in focus. Corypheus had long been the prime goal, but he became their devoted obsession. It hardly seemed there were free moments for sleep, let alone anything else, but they still managed to find time for each other. Often it was little more than a shared cup of lukewarm tea in Cullen’s office, or a two-minute chat in Dorian’s alcove when Cullen was on his way to meet with Leliana. 

The army returned and filled Skyhold with sound and life and Dorian, in particular, felt safer knowing they had a fighting chance. And then all of their planning was put to the test when Corypheus came calling. 

Dorian had just enough time to find Cullen on their way to the gate. He was in full armor, every line of him the Commander of the Inquisition army and he had never been so stunning. Dorian grasped his arm and drew him into a kiss. “Be safe.”

“I love you,” he said and was off before Dorian could reply. 

The confession, often repeated by Cullen at that point, felt new all over again. He wished he’d had the opportunity to respond in kind, he thought he might have been ready to stay it without a feeling of overwhelming terror that it would all be swept away if he admitted his feelings. But Cullen was off with his soldiers and Dorian was pulled to join Trevelyan’s ranks and all thoughts of everything other surviving were swept away.

After all of the fighting, the Venatori, the Red Lyrium Templars, the giants, the dragons, the final battle was almost anticlimactic. Corypheus’ forces were sparse and while the fight was challenging, Dorian never felt they were in danger of losing. He hung to the edge of the battle, casting spells as he could, protecting the close range fighters and casting more offensive spells. He drained three bottles of lyrium before the end came.

As they waited for the dust to settle, he leaned on his staff and breathed through the weariness of a well fought battle. Bull was nearly incandescent with battle lust, with Sera up on his shoulders, whooping in delight. Cassandra, bloodied, but grinning had an arm draped over Varric’s shoulders.

Cullen was waiting for them when they made their way down from the mountain. Careless of who was watching or what they might think, Dorian found a hidden reserve of energy and ran to him. He didn’t care about the armor that separated them, or the mass of soldiers at their back. He didn’t care that Trevelyan was watching and probably gloating to himself. He only cared that Cullen was alive and safe and in his arms. 

“I love you,” he said, right into Cullen’s ear. “I love you.”

“Let’s go home.”

 

_Epilogue_

Their wedding was a small affair on the Rutherford farm. Cullen’s family was in attendance, of course, as were their friends from the Inquisition. Felix came from Tevinter, weak, but still lively enough for the celebration. And strong enough for the two of them to sit down and develop an alternative to the Blight that was taking his life. It wasn’t a cure, but it wasn’t based in blood magic, or the whims of a megalomaniac. It bought them time, which was something that no other person infected with the Blight had. Maybe they would find a permanent solution, but in the meantime, Dorian got his friend back.

What had not been so easy was extricating Trevelyan from the Inquisition. There were still rifts open throughout Ferelden and Orlais. And throughout Thedas, nobles and dignitaries had grown used to dealing with Trevelyan. Leliana believed it would weaken their position to elect a new Inquisitor. He wasn’t at the farm, though, and the thought of him was hardly something that lingered in Dorian’s mind as he stood across from Cullen and made vows.

Josephine thought it romantic for them to wear their Inquisition uniforms, but Dorian had had enough of other people dictating their lives and their love. Also, the uniforms were hideous and it was bad enough he’d been seen in public in them once, he didn’t want to remember them as a part of his wedding. He was dressed in Tevinter style, long robes of rich fabric and bright embellishments. He liked to think of it as a direct snub at his homeland, as he did the very thing he’d run away from in the first place.

Cullen was beyond handsome. He’d opted for a variation of his uniform in new fabric and without the ridiculous fur lined cloak. Honestly, they could have been wearing rags for all Dorian cared, a feeling that was a great surprise. But he was so happy and Cullen could not keep the grin off his face and nothing else seemed to matter quite as much.

Long after the ceremony, after the food and wine had been consumed and the night faded toward morning, they were wrapped in each other’s arms. Cullen was pliable and warm, the both of them too exhausted to sleep. He traced meaningless patterns along Cullen’s arms and shoulders, running his fingertips over Cullen’s face. 

Dorian never imagined, never let himself believe that he could have something like this. The most he hoped for was a life not bound in a loveless marriage. To have Cullen, to have his love. It was almost too much. 

“What are you thinking?” Cullen’s voice was soft, weary, but content.

Dorian shook his head. He could have missed everything, he could have let his fear and his hurt and the scepter of his father rule him. He had let those things guide his path for a long time, believing at the very core that happiness wasn’t for him. Being with Cullen didn’t make everything better, it didn’t make the constant whisper of disapproval leave the back of his thoughts. But it made it easier to ignore. It made him hopeful that maybe, there was something good in store for his future. “I’m so glad I found you. And I’m so grateful you waited for me.”

Somehow, Cullen found the strength to roll them over, pressing Dorian into the mattress. He kissed Dorian’s throat and jaw and mouth. “You were worth the wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two Cullrian stories I have in the works, and is definitely the fluffier of the two. I love the arranged marriage trope, especially under the auspices of duty rather than family arrangement. 
> 
> A WIP, I have a good idea of how I want this to fall out and expect no more than about 15000 words?


End file.
